THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SONGS  AND  BALLADS. 


BY 

SIDNEY    DYER. 


NEW  YORK: 
SHELDON,  BLAKEMAN  AND  COMPANY. 

INDIANAPOLIS:  STEARNS  AND  SPICER. 
1857. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

SHELDON,  BLAKEMAN  &  COMPANY, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  New  York. 


UTHOTYPED  BY  THE  AMERICAN  STEREOTYPE  COMPANY, 
O,  BOSTON. 


Stbicatton. 


©tar  &eater,  fast  tfjou  lo&eti  — ©  fcltesful  feeling!  — 

Cfie  music  of  tf)e  fjeart  ? 
pjast  foalfceli  6g  JFaitf),  in^en  gftatoioj!  Jnere  conttaltng 

OEfjate'ft  coultr  ^ope  impart? 
Ef  tfyju  fjast  ftnolun  alternate  fog  anti  sorrofa 

S[®ttfitrt  tf)D  fiogom  reign, 
9nti  for  fte  fiurtenrti  fjcart  toourtJ  f)ope  to  fiorroiu 

a  sfoeet  0urcease  of  pain, 
<Ef)en  come,  ant,  tn^ile  ILife'a  tares  anfc  fooa  are  fleeting, 

ILrt  Song  tf)S  spirits  free ; 
SnU  in^at  fae  sing,  fotti)  faarm  antt  fruntilg  greeting, 

£  tieUtcate  to  tfiee  ! 


(iii) 


3 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PRELUDE 1 

That  single  Gray  Hair 11 

All  Alone 13 

Ah,  yes,  I  Remember , 15 

A  Home  in  the  "West. 17 

Washington's  Tomb,  the  Shrine  of  the  World 20 

I  would  not  have  thee  Young  again 22 

The  old  Easy-chair  by  the  Fire 24 

O,  tell  me  not  that  Early  Love 26 

O,  could  I  now  those  Years  recall 28 

The  Woodman's  Eesponse 30 

Full  Many  Years  ago 32 

A  Home  on  the  Mountain 34 

Spare  the  Old  Homestead 36 

Grave  of  Ben  Bolt 39 

They  are  all  gone 41 

The  Old  Stage-coach 43 

Brighter  Hours  shall  come 46 

We  parted  in  Youth 48 

Coming  Home 50 

I  love  the  Old  Songs 52 

Ask  me  not  to  say  Farewell 54 

1*  (v) 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Remember,  O  remember ! 56 

The  Sigh  I  breathe  alone 58 

My  Mother's  Smile 60 

Last  Meeting  with  the  Old  Folks  at  Home 62 

Annie  Lee 64 

O,  chide  me  not 66 

Moonlight  on  the  Sea 68 

O,  should  a  Light  Word  part  us  ? 70 

The  Prairie  Hunters 72* 

Nelly  Gordon 75 

The  Songs  my  Mother  sung 77 

In  Dreams  I  love  thee  still 79 

Come  not  when  the  Heart  is  sad 81 

Peace,  be  still 83 

The  Heart  can  trust  no  more 85 

Ne'er  think  I  can  deceive  thee 86 

Alice  in  heaven 88 

I  ne'er  can  love  thee  less 91 

Serenade , 93 

Song  shall  Guard  our  Liberty 95 

I  ne'er  forget 97 

Minnie  Myrtle 99 

We  two  have  been  like  Brothers 100 

We  two  have  been  like  Sisters 102 

My  Father  is  here 104 

Lilla  Clare 105 

Ah,  is  it  sweet  to  tell  me  ? 107 

Return,  return  to  me 109 

The  Light  of  Sadness Ill 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE 

Little  BHnd  Bell 112 

Dearest  Old  Mansion 114 

Better  Late  than  Never 117 

Hit  the  Nail  on  the  Head 119 

When  Joy's  full  Tide  is  rushing 121 

O,  say  not  Friendship  is  a  Name 123 

The  Angels  told  me  so 125 

Memory's  Leaves 127 

Home  is  where  the  Heart  is 129 

The  Horse  and  the  Railroad 131 

la  the  Light  of  thine  Eyes 133 

My  gentle  Lizzie 's  far  away 135 

Silent  Love 137 

Our  Mother's  Grave 139 

Minnie  Gray 141 

In  Bliss  we  shall  meet  thee 143 

O,  no,  I  am  not  Blind 145 

The  Golden  Eule 147 

Mother,  dear,  Good-by 149 

Love's  Interpreters 151 

Waiting  for  thee  at  Home 153 

The  Mother's  last  Greeting 155 

O  what  do  the  Birds  say  ? 157 

There  is  a  Word  which  others  speak 159 

Do  not  tarry  long 161 

The  Forest  Burial 163 

Little  Eva's  Vision 165 

The  Echoing  Horn 168 

Far  away,  far  away 1 70 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Pride  of  my  Heart 172 

The  Swing 174 

The  Crooked-necked  Gourd 176 

The  Indian's  Song  of  Peace 178 

The  Cottage  of  Daisy  Dell ;  180 

Be  always  Happy 184 

Safe  at  Home 186 

The  Happiest  Place  is  Home 188 

Each  Sigh  the  Heart  will  treasure 190 

I  thought  of  thee  once 192 

Angel  Willie 193 

Child's  Prayer 195 

Farewell  to  the  Home  of  my  Youth 197 

Welcome,  sweet  May! 199 

Those  Good  Old  Days 202 

One  Little  Word 204 

Awake,  Gentle  Lady 206 

'T  is  Vain  to  Hope 208 

The  First  Eose  of  Spring-time 210 

Happy  Dreams  of  Home 212 

Return  of  the  Robin 214 

Erening  Echoes 216 

Katy's  Response  to  the  Katydid 218 

Jacob  gets  the  Mitten 221 

The  Little  Red  Shoes 223 

Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn 225 

Little  Rosy  Cheeks 227 

The  Family  Altar 229 

The  Bride's  Sacrifice . .  231 


CONTENTS.  •  ix 

PAGE 

O,  thou  Dark  Reservoir  . ,  / 233 

Little  Katy's  Cry 236 

The  Strawberry  Girl 238 

We  '11  keep  the  Bible  Free 240 

Dedication  Hymn 243 

Dedication  Hymn , 246 

I  knew  you  would  miss  me 249 

Fireside  Jewels 252 

Those  By-gone  Days 254 

Kuth  (a  Cantata) 257 

Suspense 268 

Thanatos rf 270 

My  Father's  Bible 275 

The  Fay  of  the  Falls 279 

The  Deaf  and  Dumb 282 

I  love  the  Wind 285 

If  you  will  only  think  so 287 

To  an  Infant  Boy 290 

Hymn  for  New  Year's  Festival 292 

Song  about  Singers 294 


PREFACE. 


Music  AND  POETRY  were  coeval  and  co-dependent. 
Neither  alone  could  furnish  man  with  a  medium  by  which 
to  express  his  emotions,  when  chastened  by  afflictions,  or 
excited  by  love  and  joy.  Words  could  express  ideas,  but 
this  only  satisfied  the  head;  the  heart  knew  not  the  lan 
guage,  and  the  soul  of  man  walked  in  burdened  silence, 
until  it  caught  the  dialect  of  angels,  as  they  sang  around 
the  throne  of  Heaven.  But  the  staid  and  philosophic 
mind  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  see  the  fitness  of  mere 
sounds.  To  compromise  the  matter,  the  heart  gave  its 
language  of  passion  to  the  mind,  and  the  mind  its  dialect 
of  reason  to  the  soul,  and,  united,  they  gave  the  first  lyric 
to  the  world,  which  has  never  ceased  to  bless  them  for  the 
inestimable  gift. 

The  lyric  is  a  necessity  of  our  being ;  the  epic — or  poem 
merely  to  be  read — a  luxury  or  an  ornament.  We  must 
have  the  song,  but  could  get  along  very  well  without 
"  heroics  "  or  "  blank  verse." 

The  song  is  not  a  mere  sentimental  impulse — a  sickly 
fancy  growing  out  of  a  morbid  bosom ;  it  is  the  language 

(XI) 


XII  PREFACE. 

of  experience,  taught  by  the  great  lessons  of  life,  making 
its  way  from  the  heart  to  the  lips,  to  instruct  others  how  to 
battle  with  its  cares,  and  conquer  its  temptations.  It  is  a 
rich  gift,  sent  into  the  jarring  world  to  soften  its  rough 
and  dreary  aspects,  and  soothe  the  way-worn  pilgrim — a 
relic  of  the  Paradise  lost,  and  a  foretaste  of  that  which  is 
to  come. 

A  song  differs  from  other  poetical  compositions  in  many 
essential  features:  from  the  epic,  in  not  admitting  the  flight? 
of  uncurbed  imagination  and  ornate  details ;  and  from  the 
ballad  and  other  short  poems,  in  rejecting  all  descriptive 
exhibitions.  It  is  unique;  its  two  great  elements  being 
unity  and  suggestiveness — a  suggestiveness,  not  so  much 
by  what  it  reveals,  as  an  indefiniteness  which  leaves  the 
awakened  sensibilities  to  an  awe,  more  of  what  may  be 
implied,  than  of  what  is  really  expressed — as  the  Old 
Artists  used  to  sketch  the  shadowy  outlines  of  "goblins 
and  chimeras  dire"  in  the  background -of  their  pictures, 
and  leave  the  effect  to  the  imagination  of  the  beholder. 

By  the  unity  of  a  song,  is  meant  one  emotion,  so  to 
speak,  crystalized  into  its  perfect  form  of  sentiment.  The 
philosophy  of  this  unity  is  seen  in  the  very  elements  of 
the  lyric — it  is  the  language  of  passion.  We  may  not 
understand  the  utterances  of  every  tongue,  but  we  are 
never  asking  for  an  interpreter  to  reveal  the  breathings  of 
the  heart — it  has  but  one  voice,  which  all  understand, 
wherever  they  may  have  a  "  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

The  use  of  the  chorus  and  refrain  grow  out  of  this 
quality  of  the  song.  To  supply  the  necessary  extent  of 
measure  to  admit  of  singing,  and  to  embody  the  emotion 


PREFACE.  XIII 

awakened,  the  accessories  of  expansion  are  resorted  to, 
and  necessarily  withdraw  the  mind  from  the  unity  of  the 
song;  but  the  heart  seems  to  urge  the  progress  over  these 
parts,  waiting  impatiently  until  the  proper  measure  is 
reached,  when  it  launches  out  in  all  the  rapture  and 
enthusiasm  of  its  restrained  impulses,  in  repeating,  with  a 
delicious  lingering,  the  theme  of  the  song.  This  is  the 
reason  why  the  refrain  or  chorus  of  a  song  is  sung  with 
more  delight  and  excitement  than  any  other  part. 

The  melody  of  the  lyric  is  also  peculiar.  It  is  not  suffi 
cient  in  the  song  that  the  measure  should  scan  well;  its 
very  reading  must  be  suggestive  of  music.  It  must  sing 
itself,  and  with  as  much  naturalness  as  the  trill  of  the 
spring  robin,  or  the  gushing  melody  of  the  morning  lark. 
That  careful  searching  after  euphonious  words,  so  conspic 
uous  in  some  of  our  writers,  is  wholly  inadmissible ;  the 
simpler  the  language  the  better:  even  metaphor  must  be 
sparingly  used,  and  when  admitted,  must  be  natural  and  un- 
involved,  or  the  effect  is  spoiled.  What  more  simple  than 
"  The  Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls,"  «  The  last  Rose 
of  Summer,"  "  "Woodman,  Spare  that  Tree,"  and  "  Mary  in 
Heaven  ?  "  The  heart  under  deep  feeling  or  intense  pas 
sion  is  never  grandiloquent  nor  metaphorical.  When 
merely  sentimental,  as  the  sighing  lover  before  the  window 
of  his  beloved  Angelina,  one  may  talk  of  "  stars "  and 
"  starry  eyes ; "  but  an  earnest  and  genuine  lover  was  never 
guilty  of  a  moonlight  serenade. 

The  song-writer  produces  his  effect,  not  by  a  deluge  of 
sonorous  words,  but  by  a  kind  of  mental  crystalization, 
making  each  word  reflect,  on  every  side,  the  rays  of  pure 
2 


XIV  PREFACE. 

sentiment  and  deep  emotion,  and  withal,  possessing  so 
perfect  a  transparency,  that  the  whole  is  gathered  up  by  a 
single  glance.  There  is  seemingly  no  art  where  the  greatest 
art  is  exhibited; — it  is  the  power  of  intensely  idealizing 
emotions,  and  yet  with  so  much  spontaneity  and  natural 
ness  that  we  are  persuaded  the  reality  has  ever  been 
familiar  to  us.  The  song  has  directness,  uniqueness; 
heartiness,  suggestiveness,  and  unity,  so  blended,  fused, 
and  idealized,  that  it  seems  a  simple  element  possessed 
of  all  these  forces.  "  . 

"With  this  brief  sketch  of  song-literature,  a  few  remarks 
of  a  more  personal  character  must  conclude  this  lengthened 
preface. 

The  reader  will  judge  how  nearly  the  songs  in  this  vol 
ume  approximate  the  standard  given.  It  is  proper  to  add, 
that  many  of  them  were  written  for  music  publishers, 
who  furnished  the  titles  and  form  of  the  versification, 
leaving  the  author  no  choice  in  the  matter.  Owing  to 
this  circumstance,  one  or  two  themes  are  unusually  promi 
nent,  and  have  somewhat  the  appearance  of  triteness. 
Several  are  responses  to  well-known  songs;  and  as  the 
"  order "  required  the  preservation  of  the  same  measure, 
these  songs  may  have  an  appearance  of  imitation ;  but  the 
author  can  truly  say,  that  he  is  unconscious  of  having,  in 
any  instance,  made  any  one  his  model,  or  copied  aught  of 
thought  or  expression  from  others,  without  giving  due 
credit,  by  the  usual  marks. 

If  this  was  an  ordinary  volume  of  verses,  it  might  lose 
itself  in  the  multitudes  that  have  preceded  it,  and  thus 
escape  a  very  trying  ordeal ;  but,  as  a  volume  of  original 


PREFACE.  XV 

sonys,  it  will  stand  in  direct  contrast  with  the  two  or  three 
which  have  been  issued  before  it,  the  principal  one  of 
which  is  by  one  of  the  best  song-writers  in  the  language. 
But  as  most  of  the  songs  here  collected  have  met  with 
much  favor,  in  connection  with  the  melodies  with  which 
they  have  been  published,  it  is  hoped  that  some  degree,  at 
least,  of  the  same  approbation  will  be  given  them  in  this 
form. 

A  good  song  is  a  public  benefit ;  and,  trusting  that  some 
in  this  volume  will  receive  this  high  meed  of  praise,  they 
are  sent  forth  as  candidates  for  public  approval. 

It  should  be  added,  that  most  of  the  lyrics  in  this  col 
lection  have  been  disposed  of  to  music  publishers,  who 
have  the  exclusive  right  to  use  them  for  musical  purposes. 

S.  D. 


PRELUDE. 


i. 
WHEN  first  the  "  morning  stars  "  adorned  the  azure  sky, 

Their  new-born  radiance  o'er  Creation  flinging, 
They  joined  the  "  Sons  of  God  "  in  pealing  high 

A  song  of  praise,  and  Heaven  and  Earth  were  singing. 

n. 

The  Ocean  gathered  to  its  mountain  bars, 

And  hill  and  valley,  lapped  in  bliss  and  beauty. 

Took  their  first  lesson  from  the  vocal  stars, 

And  learned  to  sing,  for  song  is  Love's  first  duty. 

m. 
In  blooming  Eden,  through  each  fragrant  grove, 

With  cadence  soft,  sweet  melodies  were  flowing; 
And  every  whisper  breathed  of  guileless  love, 
For  only  love  can  cause  a  pure  heart's  glowing. 
1  (i) 


2  PRELUDE. 

IV. 

When  in  the  soul  of  man  awoke  desire, 

The  heart  a  language  sought,  to  speak  its  pleasure ; 
And  soft  within,  as  from  a  hidden  lyre, 

Sweet  melody  broke  forth  in  joyous  measure. 

v. 

Lapped  in  elysian  airs,  man  had  his  birth, 

And  song  expressed  his  soul's  first  warm  emotion ; 

And  evermore  't  will  be  in  Heaven  and  Earth 
The  dialect  of  love  and  pure  devotion. 

VI. 

Thus  Love  and  Song  are  Heaven-begotten  twins, 
The  brightest  far  of  all  its  fair  revealing ; 

When  either  in  the  soul  its  reign  begins, 
The  other  welcome  finds,  a  kindred  feeling. 

vn. 

In  that  sad  hour,  when  Adam  plucked  and  ate 

The  fruit  he  might  not  touch  by  Heaven's  decreeing, 

Then  Earth  first  knew  the  bitterness  of  hate, 
And  Love  returned  to  God  a  spotless  being. 


PRELUDE. 
VIII. 

But  He,  whose  mercy  brooks  no  long  delay, 
Back  to  the  world  the  beauteous  one  returning, 

Bade  her  again  resume  her  heavenly  sway, 
A  sacred  flame  in  every  pure  heart  burning. 

IX. 

And  Earth  is  blest  to  hear  the  voice  of  song, 
In  dulcet  strains,  a  tide  of  bliss  outpouring, 

As  joy  retunes  to  praise  each  silent  tongue, 
To  vie  with  seraphim  in  their  adoring. 

x. 

O,  priceless  boon !  how  oft  the  stricken  heart 
Kesorts  to  thee,  when  sad  and  all  forsaken ! 

And  thou  hast  still  a  balm,  which  can  impart, 
A  thrill  of  joy,  and  hope  anew  awaken  i 

XI. 

And  when  exquisite  raptures  fill  the  soul, 
And  every  pulse  with  new  delight  is  waking, 

Too  deep  for  words,  it  spurns  their  dull  control, 

We  burst  in  song,  and  save  the  heart  from  breaking. 


4  PRELUDE. 

XII. 

There  is  a  rapture  in  its  slightest  tone, 

Which  words  ne'er  give,  however  fitly  spoken 

It  takes  the  harp,  which  long  has  hung  alone, 

And  wakes  to  joy  the  strings  that  grief  had  broken. 

XIII. 

No  other  voice  can  tell  the  power  of  love, 
Or  heal  the  soul,  when  sad  and  spirit-riven ; 

No  other  pay  the  homage  due  above, 

Or  make  the  Earth  so  near  a  type  of  Heaven. 

XIV. 

Oh,  ne'er  profane  a  theme  so  fraught  with  good ; 

Nor  deem  they  trifle,  who  the  lyre  had  taken, 
And,  free  from  grosser  cares,  its  chords  have  wooed, 

To  cheer  the  sad,  and  Love's  pure  flame  awaken. 

xv. 

But  deem  that  bosom  cold,  that  ne'er  is  moved, 

When  song  its  charm  round  other  hearts  is  throwing ; 

And  colder  still,  the  soul  that  ne'er  has  loved, 
Nor  felt  the  raptures  of  its  early  glowing. 


PRELUDE. 
XVI. 

Love  is  the  aroma  of  heavenly  flowers, 
And  song  the  echo  of  angelic  gladness ; 

These  give  to  life  the  bliss  of  honeyed  hours, 
And  sanctify  our  very  days  of  sadness. 

XVII. 

The  simple  lays,  that  wake  to  tears  when  sung, 
Like  chords  of  feeling  from  the  music  taken, 

Are  in  the  bosom  of  the  singer  strung, 

Which  every  throbbing  heart-pulse  will  awaken. 

XVIII. 

Whoe'er  can  sing,  will  find  the  blest  employ 
Full  oft  from  grosser  ties  the  soul  has  riven, 

Till,  quite  transfigured  on  the  mount  of  joy, 

We  hold  sweet  converse  with  the  choir  of  Heaven. 


XIX. 

Then,  chide  me  not  that  I,  delighted,  sung, 

Ere  I  could  shape  my  song  to  fitting  measure ; 

That,  all  untaught,  the  rustic  shell  I  strung, 
For  song  has  been  to  me  a  priceless  treasure. 
1* 


6  PRELUDE. 

XX. 

I  sung  because  there  was  a  joy  in  song, 

Since  love  inspired  my  first  rude  numbers  flowing; 

And  now  I  've  tried  the  world  full  well  and  long, 
I  love  to  sing,  for  passion  still  is  glowing. 

XXI. 

Sweet  song  enshrines  the  bliss  of  other  days, 
And  brightens  all  the  promise  of  to-morrow ; 

It  brings  a  joy  that  every  loss  repays, 

And  soothes  the  pain  that  swells  the  heart  of  sorrow. 

xxn. 
While  song  can  thus  new  energy  impart, 

And  plume  the  soul  with  more  than  angel  pinions, 
I  '11  sing  till  every  shadow  leaves  the  heart, 

And  woo  celestial  bliss  from  Heaven's  dominions. 

xxm. 
'T  is  song  enriches  every  heart  and  clime, 

And  breathes  the  joys  of  all  life's  varied  stations ; 
In  harmony,  Eternity  and  Time 

Live  on  its  chords  in  holy  aspirations. 


PRELUDE. 

XXIV. 

A  world  that  ne'er  lias  known  the  power  of  song, 
Where  Love  is  ne'er  the  raptured  bosom  swelling, 

May  well  to  demons  dark  and  dread  belong, 
And  be  to  them  congenial  place  of  dwelling. 

XXV. 

But  they  who  yield  to  music's  sweet  control, 

To  deeds  of  noblest  charity  are  given  ; 
And  they  shall  learn,  when  perfect  made  in  soul, 

That  Love  and  Song  are  other  names  for  Heaven! 

XXVT. 
For  Nature  I  have  felt  a  love  intense  — 

Its  birds  and  flowers,  green  fields  and  forests  waving ; 
Each  humble  object,  to  my  quickened  sense, 

Brings  some  new  joy  to  fill  the  spirit's  craving. 

XXVII. 

Ere  mingling  in  the  world's  dark  battle-strife 
Had  petrified  the  heart,  with  deepest  feeling, 

It  was  bestowed  on  him  who  gave  it  life, 
With  holy  reverence,  at  His  altar  kneeling. 


8  PRELUDE. 

xxvra. 

The  love  of  God  shall  be  my  highest  theme, 
His  praise  my  constant  joy,  a  strain  unending ; 

And,  where  the  rays  of  fond  affection  gleam, 

There  shall  my  song  be  heard  with  others  blending. 

XXIX. 

I  may  not  equal,  in  my  highest  strain, 

The  flight  of  other  bards,  when  humblest  soaring; 
Nor  hear  from  other  lips  these  songs  again, 

When  at  the  shrine  of  faith  and  love  adoring. 

XXX. 

Still  I  must  sing,  though  none  may  hear  to  praise, 
For  song  revives  my  spirit  in  dejection ; 

And,  when  the  light  of  joy  around  me  plays, 
Sure  I  must  sing,  for  song  is  joy's  reflection ! 


SONGS. 


THAT  SINGLE  GRAY  HAIR. 

FOB  MUSIC. 
I. 

AH,  well- 1  remember  how  curly  and  golden 

And  flowing,  the  locks  which  I  treasured  of  old, 
As  o'er  thy  fair  brow  they  were  daintily  folden, 

Now  mild  as  the  amber,  now  brilliant  as  gold ; 
But  ne'er  did  my  heart  ever  throb  with  devotion, 

Nor  deem  such  a  world  of  affection  was  there, 
As  now,  when  I  see,  in  the  glance  of  each  motion, 

The  light  that  reflects  from  a  single  gray  hair. 

n. 
Ah,  true  it  may  be,  in  the  sunlight  of  beauty, 

A  shadow  that  tells  of  its  early  decline ; 
Oft  chilling  the  heart  that  is  holden  by  duty, 

But  feeding  the  love  that  is  glowing  in  mine. 
Then  pluck  not  the  treasure,  nor  seek  to  conceal  it, 

Though  faded  the  amber,  and  silvered  by  care ; 
And  every  new  comer — O,  quickly  reveal  it, — 

'Tis  robed  like  the  angels — that  single  gray  hair. 

(11) 


12  THAT   SINGLE   GRAY  HAIR. 

m. 

The  hues  that  once  played  o'er  thy  lock's  silken  flowin 

Were  types  of  the  pleasures  that  fall  to  us  here ; 
But  changeless,  and  stainless,  that  lone  one  is  glowing, 

As  shine  the  "  white  robed  "  in  eternity's  sphere. 
Then,  sigh  not  that  time  has  revealed  such  a  treasure ; 

It  sits  like  the  halo  that  saintly  forms  wear; 
Thy  soft,  golden  ringlets  once  thrilled  me  with  pleasure, 

But  sweeter  the  light  of  that  single  gray  hair. 

IV. 

The  heart,  for  a  moment,  may  shrink  from  revealing, 

How  quickly  the  dawn-light  of  beauty  can  fade ; 
But  oft  in  the  shadow  an  angel  concealing, 

The  soul,  in  celestial  effulgence,  is  paid; 
For  true  hearts  like  thine,  ever  brighter  crowns  winning, 

On  earth  are  permitted  some  jewels  to  wear; 
And  here  on  thy  brow  is  an  early  beginning — 

The  first  gem  is  set  in  that  single  gray  hair. 


13 


ALL  ALONE. 

Written  and  sent  to  an  absent  and  invalid  wife.    Set  to  music  by  C,  C.  Hull,  Esq. 

I. 

ALONE,  alone,  that  painful  word 

Which  we  must  speak  when  far  apart, 
I  Ve  breathed  so  often  since  we  met, 

It  seems  the  echo  of  my  heart. 
I  hear  it  when  among  the  crowd, 

It  mingles  in  each  music-tone, 
As  though  all  speech  were  but  a  word, 

And  that  one  word  were — all  alone! 

ii. 

Alone,  alone,  that  pensive  thought 

"Which  parting  ever  leaves  behind, 
Has  been  so  constant  since  we  met, 

It  seems  the  "impress  of  the  mind. 
It  h'ngers  in  my  waking  hours, 

And  when  soft  dreams  are  round  me  thrown, 
As  though  the  mind  were  but  a  thought, 

And  that  one  thought  were — all  alone! 
2 


14  ALL    ALONE. 

m. 

Alone,  alone,  that  weary  state 

"Which  absence  ever  gives  control, 
I  Ve  felt  so  deeply  since  we  met, 

It  seems  the  being  of  my  soul. 
O,  then,  come  back ;  for,  till  we  meet, 

Each  feeling,  thought,  and  uttered  tone 
Can  be  but  part  of  what  I  am, 

And,  without  thee,  I  'm — all  alone! 


15 


AH!  YES,  I  REMEMBER. 

[This  song  was  written  and  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  a  precious 
little  daughter,  who  slumbers  in  the  cemetery  at  "  Cave  Hill,"  near 
Louisville,  Ky.  The  "  stone  "  that  covers  her  ashes  bears  the  fol 
lowing  inscription : 

"SWEET  ALICE: 
"  Our  JOY  for  three  years  and  two  months;  became  a  MEMORY  July  2d,  1860." 

These  words  have  been  set  to  music  by  Henri  Vasouver,  James  N. 
Beck,  C.  J.  M.  Bradley,  and  others,  and  are  known  to  the  "  Music 
Trade  "  as  Ben  Bolt's  Reply.] 

.    I. 
AH  !  yes,  I  remember  that  name  with  delight, 

Sweet  Alice,  so  cherished  and  dear ; 
I  seek  her  lone  grave,  in  the  pale  hour  of  night, 

And  moisten  the  turf  with  a  tear. 
And  there,  when  the  heart  is  o'erburdened  with  woes, 

I  wander  and  muse  all  alone, 
And  long  for  the  time  when  my  head  shall  repose 

Where  sweet  Alice  lies  under  the  stone. 


16  AH!    YES,   I   REMEMBER. 

II. 

I  roam  through  the  wood,  where  so  joyous  we  strayed, 

And  recline  on  the  green  sunny  hill ; 
All  things  are  as  bright  in  that  beautiful  glade, 

But  my  heart  is  all  lonely  and  chill ! 
For  the  hand  that  so  fondly  I  then  pressed  in  mine, 

And.  the  lips  that  were  melting  with  love, 
Are  cold  in  the  grave,  and  I  'm  left  to  repine, 

Till  I  meet  with  sweet  Alice  above ! 

in. 

Ah !  well  I  remember  the  school-house  and  brook, 

"And  the  master  so  kind  and  so  true," 
The  wild-blooming  flowers  in  the  cool,  shady  nook, 

So  fragrant  with  incense  and  dew ; 
But  I  weep  not  for  these,  though  so  dear  to  my  heart, 

Nor  the  friends  that  Jrave  left  us  alone ; 
The  bosom  will  heave  and  the  tear-drops  will  start, 

For  sweet  Alice  lies  under  the  stone. 


17 


A  HOME  IN  THE  WEST. 


FOR  MUSIC. 


THE  land  of  the  East  is  the  land  of  my  birth  — 

There  Science  has  lavished  her  bountiful  store  ; 
Her  homes  are  brightest  and  truest  of  earth, 

For  peace,  like  an  angel,  guards  every  man's  door  ; 
But  Westward,  the  land  of  savanna  and  stream, 

Where  Nature  surpasses  the  riches  of  Art, 
And  freedom  and  plenty  are  all  that  we  dream, 

I  've  built  me  a  home  and  a  shrine  for  the  heart  ; 
Contented  and  happy,  with  plenty  and  rest, 
The  earth  has  no  spot  like  my  home  in  the  West. 

ii. 

The  land  of  the  East  is  the  land  of  the  great, 
And  glowing  the  page  of  her  annals  of  yore  ; 

Her  sons  are  the  heroes  of  battle  and  state, 

Whose  crowns  are  the  brightest  that  mortals  e'er  wore  ; 
2* 


18  A    HOME    IN   THE 


But  here,  where  their  children  have  found  them  a  home, 
The  type  of  true  manhood  enlarges  each  day, 

And,  though  they  are  first  in  our  national  dome, 

Soon  the  Stars  of  the  "West  will  shine  brighter  than  they; 

Undaunted  and  honest,  a  patriot  breast 

Is  found  in  each  humble  new  home  in  the  West. 

in. 
A  home  in  the  East  is  the  purchase  of  gold, 

And  Nature  is  frugal  in  blessing  its  toil  ; 
There  homestead  and  acres  are  carelessly  sold, 

Till  the  heart  is  ne'er  bound  by  a  tie  to  the  soil. 
But  a  home  in  the  West  is  the  bounty  of  God  ; 

His  seal  is  the  plenty  that  smiles  at  the  door  ; 
And  dear  is  the  spot  where  we  break  the  first  sod, 

And  Nature  invitingly  welcomes  the  poor  ; 
Contented  and  happy,  with  plenty  and  rest, 
A  home  for  the  poor  is  a  home  in  the  West. 

IV. 

We  boast  no  refinement,  like  that  of  the  East, 
Oft  cold  as  the  snow  on  its  bleak  granite  hills  ; 

Though  coarse  be  the  fare  in  a  Westerner's  feast, 
Yet  generous  his  heart  as  the  soil  that  he  tills. 


A   HOME   IN   THE    WEST.  19 

Hurrah !  for  the  land  of  savanna  and  stream,  « 

Where  bounties  are  richest  and  come  at  our  call ; 

'T  is  the  home  of  our  longing,  in  life's  brightest  dream, 
Where  plenty  is  smiling,  and  freedom  for  all : 

Then,  let  us  be  happy,  with  plenty  and  rest, 

For  the  earth  has  no  spot  like  a  home  in  the  West ! 


20 


WASHINGTON'S   TOMB— THE   SHRINE  OF 
THE   WORLD. 

MUSIC    BY  J.    A.    BAKER,   ESQ. 


IMMORTAL  and  sacred,  untouched  by  decay, 

The  tomb  of  the  hero  in  glory  appears; 
And  nations  their  homage  unceasingly  pay 

To  his  ashes,  that  hallow  the  place  of  their  tears. 
Though  he  sleeps  in  the  grave,  still,  enraptured,  they  greet 

The  banner  of  stars,  which  his  valor  unfurled, 
And  hither,  as  pilgrims,  they  hasten  to  meet, 

And  Washington's  tomb  is  the  shrine  of  the  world  ! 


The  deeds  of  the  warrior,  the  tongue  of  the  sage, 

The  strains  of  the  Poet,  though  others  may  claim, 
The  glory  that  dazzles  the  world's  brightest  page, 
Is  the  halo  that  circles  our  Washington's  name. 


WASHINGTON'S  TOMB.  21 

While  a  freeman  shall  live,  his  devotion  will  greet 
The  banner  of  stars,  which  his  valor  unfurled; 

And  hither,  as  pilgrims,  the  nations  will  meet, 

And  Washington's  tomb  be  the  shrine  of  the  world  I 

m. 

While  others  for  glory  have  fought  and  have  bled, 

His  heart  and  his  fame  to  his  country  he  gave ; 
And  here,  as  the  feet  of  the  pilgrim  are  led, 

Each  heart  is  enshrined  in  our  Washington's  grave ; 
And  the  gaze  of  the  freeman,  with  rapture,  will  greet 

The  banner  of  stars,  which  his  valor  unfurled, 
And  the  hearts  o£  all  ages,  in  unison  meet 

At  Washington's  tomb — the  first  shrine  of  the  world! 

IV. 

While  sacred,  immortal,  his  resting  shall  be, 

And  nations,  adoring,  shall  covet  his  fame, 
May  the  bond  of  our  Union  be  lasting  and"free, 

And  dear  as  the  love  of  our  Washington's  name  ! 
By  the  tomb  of  our  hero,  united  we  '11  greet 

The  banner  of  stars,  which  his  valor  unfurled  ; 
We  '11  stand  by  its  honor,  its  foemen  defeat, 

And  save  from  pollution  the  shrine  of  the  world ! 


22 


I  WOULD  NOT  HAVE  THEE  YOUNG  AGAIN. 

MUSIC  BY  E.    Z.   WEBSTER,   ESQ. 
I. 

I  WOULD  not  have  those  hours  return, 

Which  flushed  thy  cheeks  with  rosy  youth, 
To  quench  tne  light  of  golden  years, 

In  memory  linked  with  thee  and  truth. 
I  know  thine  eyes  are  growing  dun, 

Thy  voice  has  lost  its  bird-like  strain ; 
Yet,  there 's  such  beauty  hi  thine  age, 

I  would  not  have  thee  young  again. 

ii. 

Thy  gentle  hand  is  tremulous, 

Thy  step  become  less  light  and  free ; 
They  say  that  thou  art  greatly  changed, 

And  so  thou  art,  to  all  but  me. 
Though  form  and  face  may  be  less  fair, 

It  brings  to  me  no  thought  of  pain ; 
Since  love  grows  bright  as  beauty  fades, 

I  would  not  have  thee  young  again. 


I   WOULD    NOT   HAVE   THEE    YOUNG   AGAIN.          23 
.  .HI. 

I  see  among  thy  auburn  locks 

The  first  pale  rays  of  silver,  now ; 
A  shade  of  care  is  on  thy  face, 

A  wrinkle  forming  on  thy  brow ; 
But  0,  my  love  like  ivy  boughs, 

Grows  greener  as  thy  beauties  wane ; 
And  there 's  such  sweetness  in  thine  age, 

I  would  not  have  thee  young  again. 


24 


THE   OLD   EASY  CHAIR  BY  THE  FIRE. 

FOR    MUSIC. 
I. 

THE  days  of  my  youth  have  all  silently  sped, 

And  my  locks  are  now  grown  thin  and  gray ; 
My  hopes,  like  a  dream  in  the  morning,  have  fled, 

And  nothing  remains  but  decay ; 
Yet  I  seem  but  a  child,  as  I  was  long  ago, 

When  I  stood  by  the  form  of  my  sire, 
And  my  dear  mother  sung,  as  she  rocked  to  and  fro 

In  the  old  easy  chair  by  the  fire. 

II. 

O,  she  was  my  guardian  and  guide  all  the  day, 

And  the  angel  who  watched  round  my  bed ; 
Her  voice  in  a  murmur  of  prayer  died  away, 

For  blessings  to  rest  on  my  head. 
Then  I  thought  ne'er  an  angel  that  Heaven  could  know, 

Though  trained  in  its  own  peerless  choir, 
Could  sing  like  my  mother,  who  rocked  to  and  fro 

In  the  old  easy  chair  by  the  fire. 


THE   OLD   EASY   CHAIR   BY   THE   FIKE.  25 

III. 

How  holy  the  place,  as  we  gathered  at  night 

Round  the  altar  Avhere  peace  ever  dwelt, 
To  join  in  an  anthem  of  praise,  and  unite 

In  thanks  which  our  hearts  truly  felt. 
In  his  sacred  old  seat,  with  his  locks  white  as  snow, 

Sat  the  venerable  form  of  my  sire, 
While  my  dear  mother  sung,  as  she  rocked  to  and  fro 

In  the  old  easy  chair  by  the  fire. 

IV. 

The  cottage  is  gone,  which  my  infancy  knew, 

And  the  place  is  despoiled  of  its  charms ; 
iMy  friends  are  all  gathered  beneath  the  old  yew, 

And  slumber  in  death's  folded  arms ; 
But  often,  with  rapture,  my  bosom  doth  glow, 

As  I  think  of  my  home  and  my  sire, 
And  the  dearest  of  mothers,  who  sung  long  ago 

In  the  old  easy  chair  by  the  fire ! 
3 


26 


O  TELL  ME  NOT  THAT  EARLY  LOVE. 

MUSIC  BY  C.   C.   CONVERSE,  ESQ. 
I. 

O  TELL  me  not  that  early  love 

Can  thrill  the  soul  with  deepest  joy ; 
Nor  bid  me  sigh,  when  time  shall  prove 

How  soon  its  sweetest  pleasures  cloy ! 
Give  me  the  love  that  grows  through  years, 

And  clings,  like  ivy,  round  decay, 
That  feeds  its  strength  on  sorrow's  tears, 

When  passion's  heat  has  passed  away. 

• 
ii. 

O  tell  me  not  how  love  beguiles, 

When  bathed  in  floods  of  orient  light ! 
Give  me  the  bliss  of  glowing  smiles, 

When  youth  and  beauty  sink  hi  sight 
How  sweet,  when  age,  with  frosty  breath, 

Shall  youthful  blood  and  passion  chill, 
To  feel  a  power  that,  e'en  in  death, 

Will  feed  on  love's  sweet  ashes  still! 


O   TELL   ME  NOT  THAT  EARLY  LOVE.  27 

III. 

O  tell  me  not  that  age  is  cold, 

And  love's  emotion  chills  at  length; 
Since,  while  the  form  is  growing  old, 

A  pure  affection  gathers  strength. 
Ah !  no,  't  is  ripened  love  whose  glow 

Becomes  more  beauteous  till  the  even, 
And  gives  a  foretaste  here  below 

Of  that  pure  bliss  enjoyed  in  heaven ! 


28 


MUSIC  BT  J.   A  BAKER,   ESQ. 
I. 

O,  COULD  I  now  those  years  recall, 

When  life  was  like  a  summer  day, 
I  would  not  ask,  to  see  them  all 

Again  in  sorrow  pass  away. 
Ah !  who  would  more  than  once  behold 

The  light  of  youth  and  hope  depart, 
And  feel  the  life-blood  growing  cold, 

And  weep  as  joy  forsakes  the  heart  ? 
O,  no,  could  I  those  years  recall, 

When  life  was  like  a  summer  day, 
I  would  not  ask,  to  see  them  all 

Again  in  sorrow  pass  away. 

u. 
With  joy,  I  turn  my  longing  eyes 

Where,  on  the  verge  of  coming  night, 
Celestial  beams  glow  on  the  skies, 

And  fall  with  rapture  on  my  sight ! 


O,  COULD  I  NOW  THOSE  YEARS  RECALL.     29 

And  O,  my  heart  as  light  appears, 

And  free  as  youth  from  care  and  pain, 
I  wipe  away  the  falling  tears, 

Nor  sigh  for  early  joys  again. 
O,  no,  could  I  those  years  recall, 

When  life  was  like  a  summer  day, 
I  would  not  ask,  to  see  them  all 

Again  in  sorrow  pass  away. 
3* 


80 


THE  WOODMAN'S  RESPONSE. 


MUSIC    3T  W.  J.  iLANDRUM. 


I  spare  that  aged  tree, 

Then  dry  the  starting  tear ; 
Long  may  it  shelter  thee, 

When  wandering  sadly  here. 
Forbid  that  I  should  harm 

What  can  the  power  impart, 
The  light  of  joy  to  charm, 

Like  sunshine  to  the  heart. 

n.  ^ 

Few  are  the  friends  that  prove, 

Through  life's  sad  changes,  true ; 
When  trusted  most,  they  rove, 

And  leave  old  friends  for  new. 
Well  may  thy  heart,  then,  cling 

To  this  familiar  tree, 
That  still  abroad  doth  fling 

Its  sheltering  arms  for  thee. 


THE  WOODMAN'S  RESPONSE.  31 

in. 

When  memories  of  the  grave 

Shoot  through  thy  fevered  brain, 
Come  where  its  branches  wave, 

And  be  a  boy  again ; 
Come  when  the  bosom  heaves 

For  those  thou  canst  not  see, 
The  murmur  of  its  leaves 

Shall  breathe  their  names  to  thee. 

IV. 

I  ask  no  boon  to  spare 

To  thee  so  dear  a  friend ; 
The  storm  it  still  shall  dare, 

And  hear  its  branches  bend ; 
Ah !  who  could  rudely  harm 

What  can  the  power  impart, 
In  this  dark  world,  to  charm 

The  sunshine  to  the  heart  ? 


32 


FULL  MANY  YEARS  AGO. 

MUSIC    BY   PEOF.    H.    8.    SARONI. 
I. 

THE  merry  matin  song  is  heard, 

The  emerald  plains  appear, 
And,  wreathed  with  flowers,  sweet  May  returns, 

The  gem  of  all  the  year; 
But  O,  to  mie  it  has  a  voice, 

Whose  sweetness  none  can  know, 
It  whispers  words  which  thrilled  our  hearts, 

Full  many  years  ago ! 

n. 

Each  bosom,  filled  with  gladness  now, 

Bids  care  good-by  to-day, 
And  every  voice  pours  forth  a  song, 

To  welcome  rosy  May ; 
But  O,  to  me  there  is  no  light 

So  bright  as  memory's  glow  j 
For,  dearest,  thou  art  just  the  same 

As  many  years  ago ! 


FULL    MANY   YEARS    AGO.  33 

III. 

'T  is  true,  thy  auburn  locks  then  waved, 

Like  sunlight,  round  thy  brow ; 
The  rose  was  fresher  on  thy  cheek, 

Thine  eyes  more  bright  than  now ; 
But  O,  our  love  has  known  no  change,  * 

.Nor  ceased  in  strength  to  grow 
Since  first  I  pressed  thee  to  my  heart,     - 

Full  many  years  ago ! 

IV. 

Our  spring  of  life  has  passed  away, 

The  summer  time  is  here; 
Soon  autumn's  sober  hours  will  come, 

And  winter,  chill  and  drear ; 
But  O,  to  us  't  is  always  May, 

Our  hearts  no  seasons  know, 
Since  first  the  twain  were  blent  in  one, 

Full  many  years  ago ! 


A  HOME  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

FOR   MUSIC. 
I. 

LET  others  sigh  for  a  valley  home, 

Where  the  brooks  run  murmuring  by, 
I  '11  build  my  cot  on  the  mountain's  dome, 

Where  it  leans  to  the  deep-blue  sky. 
I  love  to  dwell  where  the  eagles  soar, 

And  perch  on  its  starry  crown, 
The  wild  winds  howl,  and  the  thunders  roar, 

As  the  storm  comes  rattling  down ! 
Then,  sigh  who  will  for  a  valley  home, 

Where  the  brooks  run  murmuring  by, 
I  '11  build  my  cot  on  the  mountain's  dome, 

Where  it  leans  to  the  deep-blue  sky ! 

ii. 
Let  others  pine  for  the  vale  below  — 

Though  a  home  is  more  genial  there  — 
I  love  the  drift  of  the  mountain  snow, 

And  the  health  of  its  bracing  air. 


A   HOME    ON   THE   MOUNTAIN'.  35 

We  '11  bound  away  on  the  chamois  track, 

Or  mark,  as  the  noble  deer 
Leaps' high  in  air,  as  our  rifles  crack; 

Hurrah !  for -our  mountain  cheer ! 
Then,  sigh  who  will  for  a  valley  home, 

Where  the  brooks  run  murmuring  by, 
I  '11  build  my  cot  on  the  mountain's  dome, 

Where  it  leans  to  the  deep-blue  sky  ! 


36 


SPARE  THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD. 

. 

MUSIC  BY  J.   p.   WEBSTEB,   ESQ. 
I. 

O,  SPAKE  the  old  homestead ! 

Nor  ruthlessly  part 
The  ties  that  have  bound  it 

So  long  to  my  heart ; 
When  wandering  and  weary, 

And  burdened  with  care, 
A  bright  spot  of  sunshine 

Still  beams  for  me  there. 
Then,  spare  the  old  homestead, 

'T  is  dear  to  me  yet ; 
The  home  of  my  childhood 

I  ne'er  can  forget ! 

II. 

O,  spare  the  old  homestead ! 

'T  was  there  I  first  knew 
The  love  of  my  mother, 

Still  changeless  and  true ; 


SPARE  THE   OLD   HOMESTEAD.  37 

A  father's,  a  brother's, 

A  loved  sister's  care, — 
O,  these  are  the  memories 

That  beam  on  me  there ! 
Then,  spare  the  old  homestead, 

'T  is  dear  to  me  yet ; 
The  home  of  my  childhood 

I  ne'er  can  forget !  • 

in. 
0,  spare  the  old  homestead ! 

Though  moss-overgrown. 
Its  halls  are  deserted, 

Decaying,  alone ; 
Yet  back  to  its  hearth-stone 

My  heart  will  repair, 
As  though  its  warm  greetings 

Still  welcomed  me  there. 
Then,  spare  the  old  homestead, 

'T  is  dear  to  me  yet ; 
The  home  of  my  childhood 

I  ne'er  can  forget ! 


SPARE  THE   OLD   HOMESTEAD. 
IV. 

O,  spare  the  old  homestead ! 

Till  that  pensive  hour, 
When  age  makes  me  weary, 

And  life  yields  its  power ; 
Then  bear  me,  when  fainting, 

To  breathe  its  sweet  air, 
And  die  'mid  the  sunshine 

That  beams  on  me  there ! 
Then,  spare  the  old  homestead, 

'T  is  dear  to  me  yet ; 
The  home  of  my  childhood 

I  ne'er  can  forget ! 


39 


GRAVE  OF  BEN  BOLT. 

THE  well-known  song  of  "  Ben  Bolt "  is  much  wanting  in  point 
of  unity.  In  the  first  stanza,  the  heart  becomes  deeply  interested  in 
behalf  of  the  gentle  "  Sweet  Alice,"  and  is  not  prepared  to  have 
her  so  summarily  thrust  out  of  view,  while  the  attention  is  directed 
to  inanimate  objects,  to  keep  up  the  emotions  awakened. 

This  song  was  written  to  show  the  effect  of  the  desired  unity;  and 
it  is  some  evidence  of  its  success,  that  it  has,  perhaps,  been  set  to 
more  melodies  than  any  other  song  written  in  America.  Among 
the  composers  who  have  used  these  words,  the  following  may  be 
named :  Carl  Cy.  Schuck,  H.  C.  Watson,  I.  B.  Woodbury,  T.  H. 
Tanner,  Frank  Barrington,  H.  A.  Whitney,  etc. 

I. 

BY  the  side  of  sweet  Alice  they  've  laid  Ben  Bolt, 

Where  often  he  longed  to  repose ; 
For  there  he  would  kneel,  with  the  early  spring  flowers. 

To  plant  o'er  his  darling  the  rose. 
His  heart  was  as  true  as  the  star  to  his  gaze, 

When  tossed  on  the  billows  alone ; 
But  now  it  is  cold,  and  forever  at  rest, 

For  he  calmly  lies  under  the  stone ! 


40  GRAVE   OP  BEN  BOLT. 

II. 

How  often  his  eyes  were  seen  brimming  with  tears, 

To  mingle  with  others  in  grief ; 
But  joy  would  re-kindle  the  light  of  his  smile 

When  pouring  the  balm  of  relief. 
At  last,  he  has  gone  to  the  bright  spirit-land, 

And,  free  from  all  sorrow  and  pain, 
He  tastes  the  full  raptures  of  angels  above, 

For  he  meets  with  sweet  Alice  again ! 

in. 
We  '11  gather  the  flowers  from  the  green  shady  nook, 

And  moss  from  the  silent  old  mill, 
To  strew  o'er  the  graves,  where  obscurely  repose 

The  hearts  that  death  only  could  chill. 
And  oft,  when  the  heart  has  grown  weary  and  sad, 

We  '11  come,  by  the  twilight,  alone, 
To  muse  o'er  the  spot  where,  together,  Ben  Bolt 

And  sweet  Alice  lie  under  the  stone. 


41 


THEY  AEE  ALL   GONE. 


FOR    MUSIC. 


AH  !  dearest  old  homestead  !  how  painful  the  years 

I  've  known  since  I  left  thy  loved  circle  of  yore ! 
What  anguish  of  spirit,  and  hot  burning  tears ! 

My  soul  has  so  yearned  to  behold  thee  once  more  ! 
Then  why  do  I  tremble,  as  now  I  retrace 

The  path,  in  my  childhood,  I  so  loved  to  roam  ? 
Are  the  dear  ones  alive,  whom  I  long  to  embrace, 

To  meet  at  the  door-way,  and  welcome  me  home  ? 
Ah !  dearest  old  homestead  !  I  'm  treading  thy  lawn, 

But  there 's  none  here  to  greet  me — the  loved  are  all 
gone! 

ii. 
Oh !  could  I  but  rest  'neath  that  old  roof  again, 

And  hear  the  sweet  voice  of  a  mother  in  prayer, 
My  heart  would  be  eased  of  its  burden  of  pain  ; — 

Oh,  is  she  yet  living,  to  welcome  me  there  ? 
4* 


42  THEY   ARE   ALL    GONE. 

The  moonlight  is  cold  on  its  moss-covered  walls, 
And  colder  the  stranger  who  stands  at  the  door, 

And  hope  leaves  the  bosom,  as  on  the  ear  falls, 

"  No  friend  to  its  hearth-stone  will  welcome  thee  more !  ' 

Ah !  dearest  old  homestead !  I  turn  from  thy  lawn, 

For  there's  none  here  to  greet  me — the  loved  are  all 
gone! 


43 


THE  OLD  STAGECOACH. 


FOR  MUSIC. 


THOUGH  Bothers  boast  of  their  railroad  speed, 
The  rattling  car,  and  the  whistle's  scream, 
And  look  with  pride  on  the  iron  steed, 

With  fiery  lungs,  and  a  breath  of  steam,  — 
The  jostling,  crowding,  rushing  a-head, 

And  scolding,  fretting,  all  in  a  rage,  — 
I  sigh  again  for  the  visions,  fled, 

Of  turnpike  roads  and  the  old  mail  stage. 

Then,  ho !  for  the  days  of  the  turnpike  road, 

The  prancing  steeds,  and  the  brisk  approach, 
The  mellow  horn,  and  the  merry  load 
That  used  to  ride  in  the  old  stagecoach ! 

n. 

The  old  stagecoach,  in  its  golden  day, 
Rolled  proudly  on,  with  its  cheerful  load, 

And  claimed  from  all  the  full  right  of  way, 
A  monarch,  then,  of  the  turnpike  road  ! 


44:  THE    OLD    STAGECOACH. 

But  now  the  day  of  its  pride  is  o'er, 

It  yields  the  palm  to  the  railway  train ; 
The  dear  old  friend,  so  beloved  of  yore, 
We  ne'er  shall  look  on  its  like  again. 

Then,  ho !  for  the  days  of  the  turnpike  road, 

The  prancing  steeds,  and  the  brisk  approach, 
TJie  mellow  horn,  and  the  merry  load 
That  used  to  ride  in  the  old  stagecoach ! 


in. 
The  old  stagecoach,  as  it  came,  of  old, 

Each  idler  roused  with  its  noisy  din ; 
With  cracking  whip,  how  it  briskly  rolled, 
With  conscious  pride,  to  the  village  inn ! 
But  now  it  stands  in  the  stable-yard, 
With  dusty  seats  and  a  rusty  tire, 
And  we  this  friend  of  our  youth  discard, 
For  railway  cars  and  a  steed  of  fire ; 

Yet  give  me  the  days  of  the  turnpike  road, 

The  prancing  steeds,  and  the  brisk  approach, 
The  mellow  horn,  and  the  merry  load 
That  used  to  ride  in  the  old  stagecoach! 


THE    OLD    STAGECOACH.  45 

IV. 

Though  others  boast  of  their  railroad  speed, 

The  rattling  cars,  and  the  whistle's  scream, 
And  look  with  pride  on  the  iron  steed, 

With  lungs  of  fire  and  a  breath  of  steam, 
I  sigh  again  for  the  golden  day,  . 

When,  up  the  green,  with  its  merry  load, 
The  old  stage  came,  as  it  held  the  sway, 
A  monarch,  proud,  of  the  turnpike  road. 

Then,  ho !  for  the  days  of  the  turnpike  road, 

T£e  prancing  steeds,  and  the  brisk  approach, 
The  mellow  horn,  and  the  merry  load 
That  used  to  ride  in  the  old  stagecoach  ! 


46 


BEIGHTEE  HOURS   SHALL   COME. 

MUSIC   BY   J.    HO8KIN8,   ESQ. 
I. 

THROUGH  every  checkered  scene  of  life, 

Until  we  reach  the  goal, 
In  hours  of  peace,  or  bitter  strife,     % 

Song  cheers  the  drooping  soul. 
Then,  if  to-day  no  joy  should  smile, 

And  pleasure's  voice  be  dumb, 
Let  song  the  aching  heart  beguile, 

Till  brighter  hours  shall  come. 

n. 

What  though  each  fond  enjoyment  dies, 

And  dearest  hopes  decay, 
And  tears  perennial  fill  the  eyes, 

Along  life's  dreary  way  ? 
Ah  !  when  the  darkest  hour  is  near, 

And  every  pulse  is  numb, 
Let  song  thy  drooping  spirits  cheer, 

Till  brighter  hours  shall  come. 


BRIGHTER  HOURS  SHALL  COME.         47 


Hope  on,  though  joy  should  long  delay ; 

'T  is  better  than  despair ; 
Endure  the  grief  that  must  have  way, 

'T  will  lighten  all  life's  care. 
And  if  the  heart  at  last  is  riven, 

Ne'er  yet  to  fate  succumb, 
For  song  shall  make  for  thee  a  Heaven, 

Where  brighter  hours  shall  come ! 


48 


WE  PARTED  IN  YOUTH. 

FOB  MUSIC. 
I. 

WE  parted  in  youth,  but 't  was  fate  bade  us  sever, 
And  -hope  sweetly  whispered,  "  we  soon  meet  again ; " 

Alas !  had  we  known  that  farewell  was  forever, 

No  power  should  have  sundered  our  fond  hearts  in  twain. 

I  left  thee  a  rover  on  life's  stormy  ocean ; 

*   Thou,  thou  wert  the  star  I  had  chosen  to  guide ; 

And  ne'er  has  my  heart  ever  swerved  in  devotion, 
But  turns  to  thee  fondly,  whate'er  may  betide. 

ii. 
We  parted  in  youth,  when  our  vows  were  first  spoken, 

Nor  dreamed  of  the  fate  that  should  darken  our  years ; 
But  truth  ever  triumphs,  those  vows  are  unbroken, 

Made  stronger,  like  cords,  with  their  dewing  of  tears. 
Though  wrecked  on  the  waters,  and  hopelessly  driven, 

Wide,  wide  o'er  the  ocean  where'er  the  storm  will, 
Despairing,  I  look,  when  the  storm-cloud  is  riven, 

And  thou  art  the  star  I  would  gaze  upon  still. 


WE     PARTED     IN     YOUTH.  49 

III. 

We  parted  in  youth,  and,  each  hope  early  blighted, 

We  never  can  meet,  those  fond  vows  to  renew ; 
But  deathless  affections  our  hearts  have  united, 

And  distance  ne'er  sunders,  when  spirits  are  true. 
Though  sinking  beneath  the  dark  whirl  of  the  ocean, 

And  helpless  I  struggle,  I  will  not  despair ; 
In  some  distant  world,  shines  my  star  of  devotion, 

And  thou  art  the  one  I  will  gaze  upon  there ! 
5 


50 


COMING  HOME. 

FOR  MUSIC. 
I. 

ADIEU — is  uttered  with  a  sigh; 

Farewell — we  speak  in  pain; 
We  ever  part  with  tearful  eye ; 

We  may  not  meet  again ; 
But  O,  there  is  a  blissful  word, 

When  breathed  by  those  who  roam, 
Which  thrills  with  joy  whenever  heard, 

'T  is,  coming,  coining  home  ! 

n. 

'T  is  sad  to  take  the  parting  gaze 

For  long,  long,  weary  years, 
As  onward  through  the  gathering  haze, 

The  gallant  bark  careers. 
But  joy  untold  the  bosom  swells, 

When  o'er  the  dashing  foam 
We  mark  the  whitening  sail  that  tells, 

The  loved  are  coming  home  ! 


COMING    HOME.  51 


We  love  to  hear  from  those  who  pine 

Upon  a  foreign  strand  ; 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  each  line, 

Traced  by  the  well-known  hand ; 
But  O  the  rapture  of  that  hour, 

When  those  beloved  who  roam, 
Have  breathed  those  words  of  magic  power, 

I  'm  coming,  coming  home ! 


52 


I  LOVE  THE  OLD  SONGS. 

MUSIC   BT  J.    HOSKINS,   ESQ. 
I. 

I  LOVE  the  old  songs  that  we  used  to  sing ; 
There's  a  rapture  untold  in  the  measure ; 

0  't  is  not  in  the  air,  but  there's  something  still  there 
That  wakens  and  thrills  me  with  pleasure. 

In  those  bright  happy  days  of  the  olden  time, 
Ere  a  shadow  of  care  had  come  o'er  us, 

We  sang  the  old  songs  with  a  simple  chime, 
And  our  hearts  were  as  light  as  the  chorus. 

ii. 

1  love  the  old  songs  that  we  used  to  hear, 

When  the  shadows  of  evening  were  darkening ; 
O  they  still  have  a  spell,  the  warm  bosom  to  swell, 

As  they  hold  me  delighted  with  harkening. 
It  must  be  the  friends  who  once  joined  in  the  song — 

Whose  sweet  voices  such  pleasure  could  give  me — 
Come  back  as  I  sing,  and  around  me  throng, 

To  rejoin  in  the  strains  they  sung  with  me. 


I    LOVE    THE     OLD     SONGS.  53 

III. 

I  love  the  old  songs,  for  they  bring  the  days 

When  I  joined  in  the  chorus  light-hearted ; 
O  that  simple  refrain,  't  is  reviving  again 

The  joys  that  have  long  since  departed ! 
0  !  the  bright,  happy  days  of  the  olden  time, 

Ere  a  shadow  of  care  had  come  o'er  us, 
When  we  sung  the  old  songs  with  a  simple  chime, 

And  our  hearts  were  as  light  as  the  chorus ! 
6* 


54 


ASK  ME  NOT  TO  SAY  FAREWELL. 

MUSIC  BY   C.   C.   HULL,   ESQ. 
I. 

THOU  canst  lightly  say,  we  part, 

Since  it  brings  no  pang  to  thee ; 
Though  it  leaves  a  broken  heart, 

And  a  hopeless  lot  to  me : 
Yet  I  would  not  bid  thee  stay  ; 

Those  light  words  dissolve  the  spell ; 
Since  we  part,  and  part  for  aye, 

Ask  me  not  to  say  farewell ! 

ii. 
Thou  canst  say,  forget  the  past, 

Be  as  though  we  never  met, 
And  as  idly  from  thee  cast 

Each  fond  vow,  without  regret ; 
I  can  never  thus  efface 

Thoughts  that  deep  within  me  dwell ; 
There  they  still  must  have  a  place  — 

Ask  me  not  to  say  farewell ! 


ASK    ME    NOT    TO     SAY    FAREWELL.  55 

HI. 

Thou  canst  bask  in  other  smiles, 

Since  thy  heart  will  feel  no  blight, 
And  when  pleasure's  path  beguiles, 

In  another's  love  delight; 
But  the  heart  that  once  has  known 

Love's  first  pure  and  holy  spell, 
If  forsaken,  dwells  alone, 

Broken  by  the  word,  farewell ! 


56 


REMEMBER!  O  REMEMBER! 

MUSIC   BT  -W.   H.   CUKRIE,   ESQ. 
I. 

THOUGH  far  away,  O  let  thy  bosom  cherish 

Those  holy  thoughts  we  long  have  held  so  dear ; 
Nor  let  one  love-tie  from  the  number  perish, 

Which  bound  our  hearts  in  one  when  I  was  near. 
In  distant  lands,  my  pensive  vigils  keeping, 

Thy  bosom  is  my  spirit's  sacred  home  ; 
Alas !  in  loneliness  I  'm  sadly  weeping 

That  I  am  doomed  from  that  pure  shrine  to  roam. 

Remember !  O  remember  ! 
Though  far  away,  still  let  thy  bosom  cherish 

Those  holy  thoughts  which  link  my  soul  to  thee, 
Nor  let  one  love-tie  from  the  number  perish, 
Remember !  0  remember  me ! 

ii. 

Others,  I  know,  to  win  thy  love  are  seeking ; 
They  '11  tell  thee  I  am  false  and  will  betray ; 


REMEMBER,    O    REMEMBER  !  57 

Believe  them  not,  when  honied  words  they  're  speaking ; 

They  ne'er  can  love  like  one  who 's  far  away ! 
Where'er  I  roam,  my  heart  is  ever  turning, 

"With  deepest  homage,  to  thy  hosom's  shrine, 
Where  love's  pure  flame,  like  holy  incense  burning, 

Will  keep  it  free  from  any  vow  but  mine. 

Remember !  O  remember ! 
Though  far  away,  still  let  thy  bosom  cherish 

Those  holy  thoughts  which  link  my  soul  to  thee, 
Nor  let  one  love-tie  from  the  number  perish, 
Remember !  0  remember  me ! 


58 


THE   SIGH  I  BREATHE  ALONE. 

MUSIC    BY   GEORGE    S.    BBATJ1T. 
I. 

OH,  COULD  my  heart  but  tell  its  grief, 

How  soon  would  I  confess  it ; 
But  vain  is  every  hoped  relief, 

No  language  can  express  it ! 
Then  let  me  pour  my  silent  tears, 

And  hush  the  spirit's  groan, 
And  sacred  keep  from  other  ears 

The  sigh  I  breathe  alone. 

ii. 
If  half  my  anguish  I  could  speak, 

I  would  no  more  conceal  it ; 
But  words,  alas !  are  all  too  weak, 

Too  well  I  know,  who  feel  it ! 
Then  let  my  tears  in  secret  flow, 

Nor  ask  one  murmuring  tone  ; 
But  what  I  feel  no  one  can  know, 

Till  they  shall  weep  alone  ! 


THE    SIGH    I    BREATHE    ALONE.  59 


III. 

OH,  could  my  drooping  spirit  rove, 

I  'd  leave  the  grief  which  tries  it, 
But  how  can  I  forget  her  love, 

Who  learned  so  well  to  prize  it  ? 
Thus,  evermore,  in  silent  tears, 

I  hush  the  spirit's  groan, 
And  sacred  keep  from  other  ears 

The  sigh  I  breathe  alone  ! 


60 


MY  MOTHER'S   SMILE. 

MUSIC  BY  J.   HOSKINS. 
I. 

THE  rosy  blush  has  left  the  cheek, 

Her  voice  is  soft  and  low; 
Her  step  is  trembling,  now,  and  weak, 

Her  locks  are  like  the  snow ; 
The  mild  blue  eye  no  longer  beams 

With  light,  as  once  erewhile ; 
Yet  sweeter  than  an  angel's  seems 

My  gentle  mother's  smile ! 

ii. 
Though  wrinkled  now,  I  love  to  dwell 

Upon  her  thoughtful  face, 
Where  lingers  more  than  beauty's  spell, 

Or  blush  of  youthful  grace ; 
For  there  affection  ever  gleams, 

And  love  that  knows  no  guile ; 
And  brighter  than  an  angel's  seems 

My  dearest  mother's  smile ! 


MY  MOTHER'S   SMILE.  61 

m. 

When  far  away,  and  thoughts  of  home 

Fill  all  my  dreams  at  night, 
And  mid  bright  angel  throngs  I  roam, 

I  see  her  form  of  light, 
The  first  to  come,  the  last  to  go, 
.  And  fairest  all  the  while ; 
It  greets  me  with  a  heavenly  glow, 

My  tender  mother's  smile ! 

IV. 

On  earth,  its  light  shall  cheer  my  way, 

And  sweeten  all  my  care ; 
And,  when  death  comes,  its  purer  ray 

Shall  beam  around  me  there ; 
And,  when  I  yield  this  mortal  state, 

This  thought  shall  still  beguile, 
'T  will  be  so  sweet,  at  heaven's  gate, 

To  meet  my  mother's  smile ! 
6 


THE  LAST  MEETING  WITH  THE  OLD 
FOLKS  AT  HOME. 

FOB  MUSIC. 
I. 

AH  !  many  and  sad  are  the  years  we  have  known, 

Since,  round  the  old  hearth-stone,  we  joyfully  met ; 
What  dreams  of  ambition  forever  have  flown, 

And  hope's  fairy  visions,  in  darkness,  have  set ! 
But  the  past  is  forgotten,  now  we  are  all  here, 

Where  first  we  knew  grief  as  we  parted  to  roam  ; 
And  O,  what  a  rapture  there  is  hi  a  tear, 

When  shed  as  we  meet  with  the  old  folks  at  home ! 

n. 
Our  paths  have  been  widely  dissevered  through  life. 

And  varied  the  scenes  that  have  yielded  employ ; 
To  some  it  has  been  but  a  dark  battle  strife, 

While  others  have  felt  sweet  emotions  of  joy ! 
But  now,  as  returned  from  the  East  and  the  West, 

Or  safe  from  a  life  on  the  wild  ocean  foam, 
Onejteep  thrill  of  pleasure  pervades  every  breast, 

As  we  all  meet  again  with  the  old  folks  at  home ! 


THE  LAST  MEETING  WITH  THE  OLD  FOLKS.    63 
III. 

Then  let  us  rejoice  in  re-union  to-night, 

Since  fate,  with  "the  dawning,  has  doomed  us  to  part, 
And  all  the  endearments,  that  now  give  delight, 

Must  yield  to  the  grief  that  returns  to  the  heart ! 
For  Oh,  on  the  morrow,  we  sever  in  pain, 

For  a  far  distant  land,  or  a  path  o'er  the  foam, 
Assured,  ere  we  meet  on  this  loved  spot  again,  • 

The  grass  will  grow  green  o'er  the  old  folks  at  home ! 


64 


ANNIE  LEE. 

MUSIC  BY  J.   P.  WEBSTER,  ESQ. 
I. 

'T  is  now  the  merry  month  of  May, 

When  skies  and  fields  are  fair, 
The  birds  pour  forth  their  roundelay, 

And  fragrant  is  the  air; 
But  spring  can  bring  no  joyous  hours, 

As  once  it  did,  to  me, 
For  O,  she  perished  with  the  flowers, 

My  peerless  Annie  Lee ! 

ii. 
I  seek  the  grove  at  eventide, 

Where  we  so  often  met, 
To  wander  sweetly  side  by  side, 

Ere  we  had  known  regret ; 
And  oft  her  flute-like  voice  I  hear, 

As  when  she  sang  to  me, 
And  O,  I  love  to  think  her  near, 

My  sainted  Annie  Lee ! 


ANNIE    LEE.  65 

III. 

JT  was  there  I  told  my  guileless  love, 

And  there  she  breathed  her  vow, 
And,  though  she  dwells  in  bliss  above, 

She  seems  beside  me  now ! 
I  see  a  form,  so  heavenly  bright, 

That  sweetly  smiles  on  me, 
And  well  I  know,  though  robed  in  light 

My  peerless  Annie  Lee  ! 

IV. 

Let  others  hail  the  light  of  May, 

When  skies  and  fields  are  fair, 
And  birds  pour  forth  their  roundelay, 

And  fragrant  is  the  air ; 
But  all  the  bliss  of  vernal  hours 

That  e'er  returns  to  me, 
Is  when  I  strew  with  early  flowers 

The  grave  of  Annie  Lee ! 
6* 


66 


O    CHIDE    ME    NOT. 

MUSIC   BY   P.   W.    RATCLIFF. 
I. 

0  CHIDE  me  not,  if  now  a  wounded  heart 
Must  be  thy  lot — forever  thine ! 

Since  all  the  pains  you  feel  can  ne'er  impart 
The  untold  anguish  swelling  mine. 

1  gave  to  thee  the  treasures  of  my  soul, 
Nor  felt  a  moment  of  regret, 

Till  taught,  alas !  that  love  could  not  control 
Thy  wish  to  reign  a  gay  coquet. 

n. 

0  chide  me  not,  if  doomed,  through  life's  sad  years, 
To  dwell  where  hope  no  ray  will  cast, 

Though  you  may  seek  to  find,  in  silent  tears, 
A  lethean  cup  to  drown  the  past. 

1  loved  thee  once,  and  with  a  guileless  trust ; 

O,  would  that  dream  I  could  forget ! 

A  heart  of  truth  was  trampled  in  the  dust 

That  you  might  reign  a  gay  coquet 


O     CHIDE    ME    NOT.  67 

III. 

0,  chide  me  not,  if  now,  when  thou  dost  see 

The  fatal  snare  which  led  astray, 
Should  I  refuse  to  yield  that  heart  to  thee, 

Which,  once,  was  lightly  cast  away; 
And,  if  no  balin  thy  spirit's  wound  can  heal, 

Upbraid  me  not  with  vain  regret, 
Since' I,  alas !  the  truth  can  ne'er  conceal, 

That  thou  hast  reigned  a  gay  coquet. 


68 


MOONLIGHT  ON  THE   SEA. 

MUSIC  BY   C.   M.   TEAVEB,  ESQ. 
I. 

O  COME  at  night,  when  all  is  calm, 

Then,  dearest,  come  with  me, 
That  we  may  feel  the  witching  charm 

Of  moonlight  on  the  sea. 
The  stars  are  on  the  deep  below, 

And  in  the  skies  above ; 
O  come,  and  thus  shall  be  the  glow 

That  lights  our  world  of  love ! 

n. 

O  come  amid  the  hush  of  night, 

Then,  dearest,  come  with  me, 
And  you  shall  taste  the  sweet  delight 

Of  moonlight  on  the  sea. 
No  billow  curls  the  ocean's  breast, 

No  cloud  is  in  the  sky ; 
O  come,  and  thus  shall  be  the  rest 

For  which  our  bosoms  sigh ! 


ON    THE    SEA.  69 


III. 

O  come  in  such  an  hour  as  this, 
Come,  dearest,  come  with  me  ; 

There  is  a  sweet  and  tranquil  bliss 
In  moonlight  on  the  sea. 

When  stars  are  on  the  deep  below, 
•  And  in  the  skies  above  ; 

Then,  come,  and  such  shall  be  the  glow 
That  lights  our  world  of  love  ! 


70 


O,  SHOULD  A  LIGHT  WORD   PART    US? 

FOR   MUSIC. 
I. 

O,  SHOULD  a  light  word  part  us  now  ? 

When  we  life's  heavy  cares  have  borne, 
Or  weaken  aught  our  sacred  vow, 

And  leave  the  heart  all  crushed  and  torn  ? 
But  if  the  dream  of  love  is  o'er, 

And  sundered  every  holy  tie, 
O,  there  remains  but  one  thing  more — 

To  say  farewell,  and  then  to  die ! 

n. 

O,  should  a  light  and  careless  word, 

Annul  the  joys  of  many  years, 
And  chill  the  heart  that  love  has  stirred. 

And  leave  it  to  despairing  tears  ? 
But,  if  I  'm  banished  from  thy  heart, 

And  thou  art  pained  when  I  am  nigh, 
O,  then  't  is  well  that  we  should  part, 

To  say  farewell,  and  then  to  die ! 


O,   SHOULb   A   LIGHT   WORD    PART   US?  71 

III. 

O,  should  a  word,  in  thoughtless  haste, 

Regretted,  ere  the  sound  was  gone, 
Thus  leave  the  heart  a  hopeless  waste, 

And  bring  a  night  that  has  no  dawn  ? 
But  if  the  dream  of  love  is  past, 

And  thou  canst  part  without  a  sigh, 
O,  then,  farewell !  — it  is  the  last  — 

A  broken  heart  has  but  to  die  ! 


72 


THE     PRAIRIE    HUNTERS 

MUSIC   BY   C.   M.   DE   LA  PEEHIERE. 
I. 

TRUE  hunters  of  the  West  are  we; 
Our  path  is  o'er  the  prairie  lea ; 
We  track  the  stealthy  panther's  lair, 
And  grapple  with  the  grizzly  bear. 
With  mettled  steed  and  dauntless  eye, 
Swift  as  the  winds,  along  we  fly, 

Cheerily  shouting,  as  we  go, 

Hilli  ho !  hilli  ho  ! 
True  hunters  of  the  West  are  we : 

Cheerily  ho,  prairie  hunters ! 

None  so  happy,  sure,  as  we, 

Ever  joyous,  ever  free, 
Hilli  ho,  prairie  hunters ! 

Hilli  ho,  hilli  ho,  ah  ho  ! 

Hilli  ho,  ah  hilli  ho,  ah  ho ! 


THE   PRAIRIE   HUNTERS.  73 

II. 

True  lovers  of  the  West  are  we ; 
Our  "home,  sweet  home"  the  prairie  lea. 
'T  is  not  that  from  its  fertile  plains 
The  farmer  reaps  the  richest  grains ; 
But  here,  untouched  by  want  or  strife, 
We  spend  our  joyous  hunter's  life, 

Cheerily  shouting,  as  we  go, 

HilU  ho !  hilli  ho ! 
True  lovers  of  the  West  are  we : 
Cheerily  ho,  prairie  hunters ! 

Let  the  dullard  delve  for  gold ; 

Ever  joyous,  uncontrolled, 
Hilli  ho,  prairie  hunters  ! 

Hilli  ho,  hilli  ho,  all  ho ! 

Hilli  ho,  ah  hilli  ho,  ah  ho ! 

in. 

True  inonarchs  of  the  West  are  we ; 
Our  wide  domain  is  the  prairie  lea. 
We  envy  not  the  king  his  crown, 
And  what  care  we  for  cit  or  town  ? 
Our  joy  is  on  the  bison's  track,* 
The  stirring  chase,  the  rifle's  crack ; 
7 


74  THE   PRAIRIE   HUNTERS. 

Cheerily  shouting,  as  we  go, 

Hilli  ho  !  hilli  ho  ! 
True  monarchs  of  the  West  are  we 
Cheerily  ho,  prairie  hunters ! 

None  so  happy,  sure,  as  we, 

Ever  joyous,  ever  free, 
Hilli  ho,  prairie  hunters ! 

Hilli  ho,  hilli  ho,  ah  ho  ! 

Hilli  ho,  ah  hilli  ho,  ah  ho ! 


75 


NELLY  GORDON. 

MUSIC  BY  J.   P.   WEBSTER,  ESQ. 
I. 

I  HAVE  loved  thee,  Nelly  Gordon, 

Till  my  heart  now  cleaves  to  thine, 
As  devoted,  Nelly  Gordon, 

As  the  tendril  to  the  vine. 
Ah !  to  me,  thy-  smile  is  brighter 

Than  the  blush  of  vernal  hours, 
And  thy  fairy  footsteps  lighter 

Than  the  down  of  summer  flowers ; 
O,  then,  tell- me,  Nelly  Gordon, 

If  thy  spirit  turns  to  me 
As  devoted,  Nelly  Gordon, 

As  mine  ever  cleaves  to  thee  ? 

ii. 

I  will  love  thee,  Nelly  Gordon, 
When  the  false  and  vain  deceive; 

I  will  shield  thee,  Nelly  Gordon, 
When,  forsaken,  thou  shalt  grieve , 


76  NELLY   GORDON. 

And,  though  time  may  shade  thy  beauty, 

I  will  never  change  my  vow 
To  a  cold  and  formal  duty, 

But  will  love  thee  then  as  now. 
O,  then,  tell  me,  Nelly  Gordon, 

If  thy  spirit  turns  to  me 
As  devoted,  Nelly  Gordon, 

As  mine  ever  cleaves  to  thee  ? 


77 


THE  SONGS  MY  MOTHER  SUNG. 

MUSIC  BY   "j.   H." 

I. 

»v 

THOUGH  I  delight  in  strains 

Which  others  breathe  so  well, 
When  melody  enchains 

The  soul  with  magic  spell, 
I  gladly  turn  apart 

From  every  warbling  tongue, 
To  hear,  with  melting  heart, 

The  songs  my  mother  sung. 

n. 

It  was  a  simple  lay 

That  charmed  my  boyish  years ; 
But  still  its  power  can  sway,  • 

And  melt  my  heart  to  tears ; 
And,  though  I  ne'er  again 

Can  hear  that  tuneful  tongue, 
My  soul,  in  soft  refrain, 

Repeats  the  songs  she  sung, 
1* 


78  THE   SONGS   MY  MOTHER   SUNG. 

III. 

Then,  chide  me  not,  if  I 

Seem  cold,  when  others  praise, 
And  only  breathe  a  sigh, 

When  joyous  are  their  lays ; 
O,  can  I  e'er  forget 

The  time  when  I  was  young, 
And  in  my  heart  were  set 

The  songs  my  mother  sung ! 


79 


IN  DREAMS   I  LOVE  THEE   STILL. 

MUSIC  BY  W.   H.   CURRIE,  ESQ. 
I. 

I  VOWED  to  sigh  and  pine  no  more, 

Nor  give  one  passing  thought  to  thee — 
I  'd  be  light-hearted  as  before, 

And  cold  as  thou  to  me ; 
But,  when  soft  slumber's  golden  reign 

Has  freed  the  heart  from  reason's  will, 
I  find  my  waking  vows  are  vain — 

In  dreams,  I  love  thee  still. 

ii. 
Again  I  think  how  false  thou  art, 

The  vo\«s  cast  off  without  regret, 
And  sternly  chide  my  wayward  heart, 

The  false  one  to  forget ; 
But,  when  the  night's  calm  hour  returns, 

And  slumber  leaves  the  heart  at  will, 
My  firm  resolves  it  idly  spurns, — 

In  dreams,  I  love  thee  still. 


80  IN  DREAMS   I  LOVE   THEE   STILL. 

m. 

I  may  not  hope  to  win  again 

The  love  you  once  were  free  to  give, 
Nor  feel  a  sweet  relief  from  pain ; 

'T  is  mine  alone  to  grieve ; 
But  I  will  cease  to  school  my  heart 

To  bend  to  sterner  reason's  will, 
And  freely  own,  whate'er  thou  art, 

I  fondly  love  thee  still ! 


81 


COME   NOT   WHEN   THE    HEART   IS   SAD. 

MUSIC   BY   J.    M.   HUBI5ARD,    ESQ. 
I. 

O,  COME  not  when  the  heart  is  sad, 

And  tears  suffuse  the  eyes ; 
Nor  when  the  shades  of  evening  rest 

Upon  the  pensive  skies ; 
Choose  not  a  dark  and  mournful  time 

To  visit  graves,  where  lie 
The  forms  of  those  beloved  most, 

Whose  spirits  are  on  high. 
But  come  when  morning  suns  are  bright, 

Amid  the  blush  of  spring, 
•When  thy  own  heart  is  light  and  free 

As  birds  that  gaily  sing. 

ii. 

O,  come  not  at  the  gloaming  hour, 
When  night's  dark  shadows  chill, 

And  croaking  birds  are  heard  around, 
Or  mournful  whippo'will ; 


82  COME   NOT    WHEN   THE   HEAKT    IS    SAD. 

But  when  the  lark  is  on  the  wing, 

To  greet  the  smiling  morn, 
And  beams  of  golden  sunlight  glance 

O'er  all  the  waving  corn ; 
When  all  is  joyous,  peace,  and  light, 

And  sorrow  thence  is  driven, 
O  visit,  in  an  hour  like  this, 

The  grave  of  one  in  heaven ! 


83 


PEACE,   BE   STILL. 

FOR   MUSIC. 
I. 

WHEN,  on  the  raging  sea  of  life,. 

The  billows  roll  and  skies  are  dark, 
And,  faint  with  toiling,  we  despair, 

As  slowly  sinks  our  foundering  bark, 
But  turn,  in  faith,  to  Him  who  speaks, 

And  wind  and  sea  obey  His  will, 
A\id  cry,  "  0  save  ! "  His  voice  will  calm 

The  swelling  floods  with,  "Peace,  be   still!" 

ii. 

Though  tempest-tossed,  and  half  a  wreck, 

Fear  not,  nor  winds  nor  sea  can  harm, 
With  Jesus  present  in  the  ship, 

To  hush  the  ocean  into  calm. 
But  let  Him  hear  one  earnest  cry, 

When  fear  the  trembling  heart  shall  fill,  — 
"  Save,  Master,  save ! " — He  speaks,  and  lo  ! 

The  tempest  hears:  'tis  "Peace,  be  still!" 


84  PEACE,   BE    STILL. 

III. 

Though  He  may  seem  awhile  to  sleep, 

When  billows  yawn,  our  bark  to  whelm, 
His  watchful  care  still  guides  our  way, 

His  head  is  pillowed  near  the  helm. 
And,  when  our  doubting  hearts  grow  faint, 

And  fears  the  frenzied  bosom  fill, 
He  chides  our  drooping  faith,  and  cries, 

"  Be  calm,  ye  waves ;  ye  winds,  be  still ! " 

IV. 

O,  trust  Him,  then,  whate'er  betide ; 

Though  winds  and  waves  may  loudest  roar  ; 
He  waits  awhile,  our  faith  to  prove, 

Then  bids  the  tempest  rage  no  more. 
He  speaks,  and  O,  the  wondrous  power, 

The  wind  and  waves  obey  His  will ! 
And,  o'er  the  wide-spread  sea  of  life, 

'T  is  calm  as  heaven,  at — "Peace,  be  still. f " 


85 


THE  HEART  CAN  TRUST  NO  MORE. 

MUSIC   BY  JULES   BENEDICT. 
I. 

HOPES  once  gone  are  gone  forever, 

They  return  not  to  the  heart ; 
Though  we  seek  them,  yet  they  never 

"Will  again  their  light  impart. 
Thus,  if  love's  firsfrvows  are  broken, 

Every  dream  of  bliss  is  o'er ; 
Truth,  once  sullied,  is  the  token 

That  the  heart  can  trust  no  more ! 

ii. 
Wealth  and  beauty,  swiftly  flying, 

Outward  griefs,  can  all  be  met ; 
While  on  plighted  vows  relying, 

Fortune's  frowns  bring  no  regret. 
But,  if  truth  has  once  departed, 

Love's  fond  dreams  of  bliss  are  o'er ; 
Then,  alas  !  the  broken-hearted 

Feels  the  heart  can  trust  no  more  ! 
8 


86 


NE'ER  THINK  I  CAN  DECEIVE  THEE. 

SET   TO  AN  AIE  BY   MOZAKT. 
I. 

NE'ER  think  I  can  deceive  tbee, 
.    Or  cause  thee  e'er  to  rue  ; 
Though  all  are  false,  believe  me. 

One  heart  can  still  be  true. 
The  stars  above  us  beaming 

Will  leave  their  azure  sphere, 
Ere,  from  my  brightest  dreaming, 

Thine  image  disappear ! 


I  know  the  heart  is  changing, 

And  fickle  as  the  wave, 
And  often,  in  its  ranging, 

Recalls  the  love  it  gave. 
The  flood's  may  leave  the  ocean, 

The  dewy  flowers  the  lea, 
.  But  never  my  devotion, 

One  moment  turn  from  thee ! 


NE'ER  THINK  i  CAN  DECEIVE  THEE.  87 

in. 

Though  far  our  paths  may  sever, 

Should  fate  e'er  bid  us  part, 
Nor  time  nor  place  shall  ever  . 

Divide  my  constant  heart ; 
But,  while  its  pulse  is  beating, 

Its  truth  unstained  shall  be ; 
And,  when  the  last  is  fleeting, 

That  throb  shall  be  for  thee! 


H8 


ALICE  IN  HEAVEN. 

MUSIC   BY  PBOF.   W.   H.    CURRIE. 
I. 

How  beauteous  is  the  evening's  close 

When  twilight  draweth  nigh, 
And  gorgeously  the  mellow  rays 

Adorn  the  pensive  sky ! 
It  is  an  hour  for  holy  thought ; 

But  O,  I  love  the  even, 
For  't  is  the  hour  my  darling  one, 

Sweet  Alice,  went  to  heaven  ! 

n. 
I  looked  upon  her  angel  brow, 

Death's  touch  had  made  more  fair, 
And,  in  those  gently  closing  eyes, 

The  light  of  Heaven  was  there. 
One  fading  smile,  one  look  of  love, 

And  life's  last  tie  was  riven ; 
Alas !  that  I  was  left  to  mourn 

Sweet  Alice,  now  in  heaven ! 


ALICE   IN  HEAVEN.  89 

III. 

The  gloom  of  night  may  shroud  the  earth, 

And  stars  forsake  the  skies, 
But  on  my  sad  and  aching  heart 

A  deeper  darkness  lies  ; 
For  O,  my  soul's  bright  star  is  quenched, 

Whose  rays  such  joy  had  given : 
It  set,  to  rise  no  more  on  earth, 

When  Alice  went  to  heaven ! 

IV. 

I  listen  for  her  cherub  voice, 
•    Her  merry,  sylph-like  tread  ; 
I  watch  to  catch  her  beaming  smiles, 

Then  comes  the  thought — she 's  dead ! 
They  tell  me  she  is  happy  now, 

To  soothe  my  spirit,  riven  ; 
But  I  must  still  a  weeper  be,  — 

Sweet  Alice  is  in  heaven ! 

v. 
But,  when  such  thoughts  lie  on  the  soul, 

And  tears  suffuse  the  eyes, 
And  murmurs  tremble  on  the  lips, 

That  thus  the  heart  He  tries, 

8* 


9C  ALICE   IN   HEAVEN. 

I  '11  think  of  Him  who  hath  the  life 
And  resurrection  given, 

And  joy  that  I  shall  meet  again. 
Sweet  Alice,  now  in  heaven  I 


91 


I  NE'EE  CAN  LOVE  THEE  LESS.* 

MUSIC  BY   THE  AUTHOR. 
I. 

IN  youth,  unto  my  lips  was  pressed 

A  flower  beyond  compare, 
And  then  I  laid  it  on  my  breast, 

To  shed  its  fragrance  there. 
Its  withered  leaves,  with  nicest  art, 

In  memory's  folds  I  press, 
And  shrine  them  in  my  inmost  heart  : 

I  ne'er  can  love  thee  less  ! 

11. 

And,  though  the  bloom  has  left  thy  cheek, 

The  starry  light  thine  eyes, 
Thy  quivering  lips  the  anguish  speak, 

Thy  patience  would  disguise — 

*  The  wife  of  the  author  having  been  attacked  with  erysipelas  in  the  face,  her 
physician  applied  iodine,  which  bronzed  the  skin.  The  author  entering  the  room 
soon  after,  she  threw  a  handkerchief  over  her  face,  remarking,  that  he  "  should 
not  see  her  ;  for,  if  he  did,  he  would  love  her  no  more."  While  watching  by  her 
bedside  that  night,  these  words  were  written  and  presented  to  her  in  the  morning . 


92  i  NE'ER  CAN  LOVE  THEE  LESS. 

Though  pain  and  years  upon  thy  brow 

Have  left  their  deep  impress, 
And  thou  wert  fairer  once  than  now, 

I  ne'er  can  love  thee  less  ! 

in. 
I  sought  thee  not  for  beauty's  gloss, 

That  evanescent  thing ; 
Its  absence  were  too  slight  a  loss 

One  faint  regret  to  bring. 
Thy  truth  and  love — these  ne'er  can  change, 

Nor  cease  my  heart  to  bless, 
Nor  can  there  aught  my  love  estrange ; 

I  ne'er  can  love  thee  less ! 


93 


SERENADE. 

BIU8IC   BY   H.   J.   PETERS,   ESQ. 
I. 

•AWAKE  !  the  moonbeams  crown  the  night, 
And  slumber  on  the  sea,  love, 

And  all  the  stars  above  are  bright, 
Awake  from  dreams  of  me,  love ! 
Awake  from  dreams  of  me ! 

ii. 

Sweet  incense  pours  from  dewy  flowers, 
Fit  emblem  pure  of  thee,  love, 

And  zephyrs  come  from  honied  bowers, 
Awake,  and  list  to  me,  love ! 
Awake,  and  list  to  me  ! 

in. 

The  voice  of  night  delights  the  ear, 
And  floats  along  the  lea,  love, 

But  thine,  more  sweet,  I  wait  to  hear, 
Breathe  one  fond  word  for  me,  love ! 
Breathe  one  fond  word  for  me ! 


94  SERENADE. 

r  • 

IV. 

Let  beauty  weave  her  magic  spell, 
It  has  no  charms  for  me,  love  ; 

Since  first  I  loved  thee,  O  how  well, 
My  heart  is  true  to  thee,  love ! 
My  heart  is  true  to  thee ! 

v. 

Where'er  the  bliss  of  balmy  sleep 
From  care  shall  set  thee  free,  love, 

And  angels  watch  around  thee  keep, 
Bright  be  thy  dreams  of  me,  love  ! 
Bright  be  thy  dreams  of  me  ! 

VI. 

But  now,  while  moonbeams  crown  the  night, 
And  slumber  on  the  sea,  love, 

And  all  the  stars  above  are  bright, 
Awake,  and  smile  on  me,  love ! 
Awake,  and  smile  on  me  ! 


95 


FOB   MUSIC. 
I. 

WHEN  our  forefathers  from  them  cast 

• 

The  chains  which  bound  the  conscience  fast, 

They  vowed  henceforth  the  soil  they  trod 

Should  have  no  king  but  thee,  O  God ! 

But  evermore  from  sea  to  sea, 

Should  glow  the  fires  of  liberty. 

And^e,  their  sons,  repeat  again, 

Here  pope,  nor  priest,  nor  king,  shall  reign. 

Then  let  us  sing  our  native  land, 
The  chorus  swell  from  sea  to  sea ; 

For  song  will  nerve  each  heart  and  hand 
To  guard  our  glorious  Liberty. 

n. 

Ay,  by  the  blood  that  freely  flowed, 
When  first  the  fires  of  freedom  glowed  ; 
By  allthe  years  of  toil  and  pain 
Endured  to  break  the  tyrant's  chain; 


96       SONG  SHALL  GUAKD  OUR  LIBERTY. 

And  by  the  freedom  nobly  won, 
We  pledge,  each  true  Columbia's  son, 
To  guard  our  own  dear  native  land 
From  every  foreign  spoiler's  hand. 
Then  rally,  rally,  patriot  band,    ' 

The  chorus  swell  from  sea  to  sea ; 
For  song  will  nerve  each  heart  and  hand 
To  guard  our  glorious  Liberty. 

in. 

"We  welcome  all  who  hither  come 
To  find  in  Freedom's  land  a  home, 
And  give  them  leave  with  us  to  toil, 
To  gather  riches  from  our  soil,  • 

And  earn  the  sacred  right  to  be 
True  guardians  of  our  Liberty; 
With  us  to  hold,  with  us  to  guide 
The  land  for  which  our  fathers  died. 

Then  let  us  sing  our  native  land, 
The  chorus  swell  from  sea  to  sea ; 

For  song  shall  nerve  each  heart  and  hand 
To  guard  our  glorious  Liberty. 


97 


I   NE'ER   FORGET. 


Do  not  chide,  if  fond  affection 

Lingers  still,  when  hope  is  past ; 
Weeping  tears  of  deep  dejection 

Where  the  wrecks  of  joy  are  cast 
Can  the  heart  thus  rudely  sever 

Dearest  ties  without  regret  ? 
Call  it  weakness — yet  forever 

I  must  love — I  ne'er  forget! 

ii. 
Well  I  know  that  vows  were  broken  - 

Know  that  truth  was  cast  away  ; 
That  to  me  it  was  a  token 

Hope  could  shed  no  cheering  ray. 
Still  my  heart  will  fondly  cherish 

That  dear  name  as  sacred  yet ; 
Call  it  madness — if  I  perish, 

I  must  love — I  ne'er  forget! 


98 


MINNIE   MYRTLE. 

MUSIC   BY   W.    C.   CURRIE,   ESQ.,   AND  J.   HOWARD  DOANE,    KSQ. 
HAS  ALSO  BEEN  SET  TO  OTHER  MELODIES. 

I. 

WE  smoothed  down  the  locks  of  her  soft  golden  haiv, 

And  folded  her  hands  on  her  breast, 
And  laid  her,  at  eve,  in  the  valley  so  fair, 

'Mid  the  blossoms  of  summer  to  rest 
O  rest,  Lilly,  rest ;  no  care  can  assail, 

For  green  grows  the  turf  o'er  the  tear-moistened  grave 
Of  the  fairest  flower  of  the  vale  ! 

ii. 

She  sleeps  'neath  the  spot  she  had  marked  for  repose, 

Where  flowers  soonest  blossom  in  spring, 
And  zephyrs  first  breathe  the  perfumes  of  the  rose, 

And  the  birds  come  at  evening  to  sing ; 
O  rest,  Lilly,  rest ;  no  care  can  assail, 

For  green  grows  the  turf  o'er  the  tear-moistened  grave 
Of  the  fairest  flower  of  the  vale  ! 


MINNIE    MYRTLE.  99 

III. 

The  wide-spreading  boughs  of  the  old  chestnut  tree 

Bend  low  o'er  the  place  where  she  lies, 
Where  eve's  purple  beams  longest  glow  on  the  lea, 

And  the  morn's  drink  the  dew  as  they  rise. 
O  rest,  Lilly,  rest ;  no  care  can  assail, 

For  green  grows  the  turf  o'er  the  tear-moistened  grave 
Of  the  fairest  flower  of  the  vale  ! 

IV. 

Alone,  where  the  brook  murmurs  soft  on  the  air, 

She  sleeps  with  the  turf  on  her  breast, 
As  we  laid  her,  at  eve,  in  the  valley  so  fair. 

'Mid  the  blossoms  of  summer  to  rest. 
0  rest,  Lilly,  rest ;  no  care  can  assail, 

For  green  grows  the  turf  o'er  the  tear-moistened  grave 
Of  the  fairest  flower  of  the  vale ! 


100 


WE  TWO   HAVE   BEEN  LIKE  BROTHERS. 

MUSIC   BY   I.   B.   WOODBUBY,   ESQ. 
I. 

WE  two  have  been  like  brothers, 

Through  long  and  weary  years ; 
One's  joy  has  been  the  other's, 

His  sadness  and  his  tears. 
Though  life  has  brought  its  changes, 

And  others  have  grown  chill, 
Our  hearts  no  time  estranges, 

We  two  are  brothers  still. 

ii. 
Our  hearts  were  linked  like  brothers 

In  early  dawn  of  youth, 
When  each  became  the  other's, 

In  confidence  and  truth ; 
And  now,  when  worn  and  weary, 

We  totter  down  the  hill, 
It  makes  the  way  less  dreary 

That  we  are  brothers  still. 


WE   TWO   HAVE   BEEN   LIKE   BROTHERS.  101 

III. 

Through  life  we  've  been  like  brothers, 

To  help  in  tune  of  need, 
To  share  what  was  the  other's, 

And  be  a  friend  indeed ; 
And  ne'er,  whate'er  betide  us, 

Or  be  it  good  or  ill, 
Shall  aught  on  earth  divide  us, — 

"We  two  are  brothers  still ! 

9* 


102 


WE    TWO   HAVE   BEEN   LIKE   SISTERS. 

• 

FOE    MUSIC. 
I. 

WE  two  have  been  like  sisters, 

Since  first  we  gathered  flowers 
To  grace  the  brow  of  childhood 

In  life's  bright  vernal  hours ; 
And,  now  those  days  are  numbered, 

And  care  is  on  each  brow, 
We  quite  forget  their  fading, — 

We  two  are  sisters  now. 

n. 

We  were  confiding  sisters, 

When  others  sought  to  share 
The  love  our  hearts  had  mingled, 

Ere  other  thoughts  were  there ; 
Alas  !  how  soon  forgotten 

Was  every  solemn  vow ! 
We  then  were  one  in  sadness, 

We  two  are  sisters  now. 


WE   TWO   HAVE   BEEN   LIKE    SISTERS.  103 

III. 

We  e'er  were  loving  sisters 

In  joy  and  hours  of  grief; 
In  mingled  bliss  or  sorrow, 

Found  pleasure  or  reb'ef ; 
And,  though  each  hope  may  perish 

That  time  can  e'er  allow, 
We'll  live  and  love  like  sisters, 

Affectionate  as  now. 


104 


MY   FATHER  IS   HERE. 

/ 

MUSIC    BY   L.    V.    H.    CROSBY,   AXD   PROF.    T.    WOOD. 
I. 

IN  the  hush  of  the  evening,  alone, 

A  mother  sat  watching  her  child, 
When  a  light  o'er  its  fair  features  shone, 

And  its  lips  in  soft  murmurings  smiled. 
She  listens  to  catch  every  sigh, 

And  joy  takes  the  place  of  a  tear, 
For  it  talks  of  the  angels  on  high, 

And  whispers,  My  Father  is  here, 
My  Father  is  here  ! 

u. 
And  her  heart  grew  so  calm  and  serene, 

As  she  gazed  on  the  vacant  old  chair 
Where  so  often  the  loved  one  was  seen, 

For  she  knew  that  his  spirit  was  there, 
^hen  she  pressed  the  soft  lips  of  her  child, 

And  felt  that  an  angel  was  near. 
For  it  woke  to  her  pressure  and  smiled, 

And  whispered,  My  Father  is  here, 
My  Father  is  here ! 


1C3 


LILLA    CLAEE. 

FOE  MUSIC. 
I. 

WHEN  first  I  knew  sweet  Lilla  Clare, 

No  star  could  match  her  sparkling  eye, 
And  with  the  cheek  of  Lilla  Clare 

The  summer  rose  would  blush  to  vie. 
Her  flowing  locks  in  golden  waves 

Were  bright  as  sunbeams  on  the  tide, 
And  her  sweet  voice  and  witching  smile 

Held  me  a  captive  by  her  side. 
And  thus  the  love  of  Lilla  Clare 

Became  more  dear  than  life  to  me ; 
My  only  wish,  that  Lilla  Clare 

Would  never  set  her  captive  free. 

n. 

I  told  my  love  to  Lilla  Clare. 

With  downcast  look  she  heard  me  through; 
Then,  with  a  blush,  sighed  Lilla  Clare, 

My  heart  to  thine  is  ever  true  ! 


106  LILLA    CLARE. 

But  soon  my  dreams  of  bliss  were  o'er, 

And  all  my  fond  affections  sere, 
For  Lilla  sleeps  in  yonder  grave, 

And  I  am  left  heart-broken  here. 
O,  now  I  weep  for  Lilla  Clare, 

And  know  no  joy  but  in  a  sigh ; 
I  long  to  rest  by  Lilla  Clare, 

Where  tears  no  more  can  dim  the  eye. 


107 


AH,  IS   IT   SWEET  TO  TELL  ME? 

MUSIC   BY   8.   W.    STONE,   ESQ. 
I. 

AH,  is  it  sweet  to  tell  me, 

Or  worth  my  while  to  keep 
A  secret  only  whispered 

In  vagaries  of  sleep  ? 
Yet  tell  to  me  the  treasure, 

I  '11  prize  it  for  thy  sake  ; 
And  love  me  still  when  dreaming, 

But  talk  as  one  awake. 

ii. 
The  love  you  fondly  whisper, 

When  waking,  to  my  ear, 
Though  only  felt  when  dreaming, 

Is  ever  held  most  dear. 
One  may  deceive  when  waking, 

Be  other  than  he  seems  ; 
But  slumber  knows  no  falsehood, 

The  heart  is  true  in  dreams. 


-         108  AH,    IS    IT    SWEET    TO    TELL    ME? 

III. 

But  talk  no  more  of  dreaming, 

Of  hopes  that  falsely  shine  ; 
With  all  its  deep  devotion, 

My  heart  responds  to  thine ! 
Then  tell  the  blissful  secret, 

I  '11  keep  it  for  thy  sake, 
And  love  me  still  when  dreaming 

But  talk  as  one  awake. 


109 


RETURN,   RETURN   TO  ME. 

i. 

WHEN  fhou  shalt  find  thy  promised  joys  are  fleeting, 

And  learn  how  false  a  seeming  friend  can  be  ; 
When  every  fibre  of  thy  heart  is  beating, 

And  there  are  none  to  share  that  grief  with  thee; 
Then  think  of  one  whom  now  you  pass  unheeding,  — 

A  step  ere  long  you  '11  deeply,  sadly  rue,  — 
And,  though  you  come  with  heart  all  torn  and  bleeding, 

Yet,  O,  return,  return  !   I  still  am  true  ! 

Return,  return  to  me. 
When  thou  shalt  find  thy  promised  joys  are  perished, 

And  know  how  false  a  seeming  friend  can  be, 
And  learn  to  prize  the  truth  once  fondly  cherished, 

O,  then  return,  return  to  me. 

n. 
I  will  not  chide  for  vows  thus  lightly  broken, 

Thy  heart  has  ne'er  been  false,  but  was  betrayed  ; 
And  O,  those  holy  words  thy  lips  have  spoken, 

In  fondest,  truest  love  will  yet  be  paid  ; 
10 


110  KETUKN,    RETURN   TO   ME. 

For  thou  wilt  soon  from  this  sad  dream  awaken, 

And  yearn  to  breathe  those  first  warm  vows  anew  ; 
And,  though  I  now  am  lightly  thus  forsaken, 

Then  O,  return,  return !    I  still  am  true  ! 

Return,  return  to  me. 
When  thou  shalt  find  thy  promised  joys  are  perished, 

And  know  how  false  a  seeming  friend  can  be, 
And  learn  to  prize  the  truth  once  fondly  cherished, 

O,  then  return,  return  to  me. 


Ill 


THE    LIGHT    OF    SADNESS. 

i. 
How  fondly  will  affection  cling 

To  what  we  early  cherish, 
E'en  when  it  has  no  power  to  bring 

The  joys  so  soon  to  perish. 
The  heart  delights  to  linger  there, 

And,  with  a  .mournful  pleasure, 
Still  gathers  up  with  pious  care 

The  dust  of  buried  treasure. 

n. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  a  sigh, 
When  pure  the  fount  of  feeling  ; 

And  brighter  is  the  tearful  eye 
Then  when  't  is  joy  revealing. 

'T  is  sweet  from  out  the  wreck  of  years 

To  cull  each  withered  token, 

• 

And  garner  up  a  store  of  tears, 
To  feed  the  heart  when  broken. 


112 


LITTLE    BLIND    BELL. 

FOE  MUSIC. 
I. 

THAT  bright  sunbeam  !  where  has  it  gone  ? 

'T  was  on  my  cheek  and  brow ; 
O,  has  it  from  the  window  flown, 

Or  is  it  by  me  now? 
I  felt  it  warm  the  gushing  tears 

Which  from  my  eyelids  steal, 
But  when  I  try  to  hold  it  there, 

Its  rays  I  cannot  feel. 
Alas,  I  cannot  grasp  that  beam ! 

Say,  mother,  can  you  tell       . 
Why  I  can  never  catch  the  rays 

That  kiss  your  little  Bell? 

11. 
O,  't.is  so  sad  to  dwell  in  gloom, 

And  know  that  from  the  skies 
The  sunbeams  glance,  and  softly  lie 

Upon  my  very  eyes. 


LITTLE    BLIND    BELL.  113 

Ah,  when  I  feel  them  resting  there, 

J  grasp  with*all  my  might ; 
Perhaps,  if  I  could  hold  them  there, 

0 

I  soon  should  see  the  light. 
But  when  I  shut  my  hand,  they  fly ! 

O,  mother,  can  you  tell 
Why  I  can  never  catch  the  beams 

That  kiss  your  little  Bell. 

in. 

The  sunbeam  loves  me,  I  am  sure, 

For  it  so  often  flies 
To  leave  its  warm  kiss  on  my  cheek, 

And  dry  my  weeping  eyes. 

I 
And  though  my  hand  may  not  retain 

The  bright  one  ever  here, 
I  shall  in  heaven  behold  the  glow 

That  lights  its  radiant  sphere  ; 
For  there  no  night  will  ever  come, 

I  've  often  heard  you  tell, 
Nor  shadow  rest  upon  the  eyes 

Of  happy  little  Bell. 
10* 


114 


DEAREST    OLD    MANSION. 

MUSIC   BT   J.   H.    HUBBABD,   ESQ. 
I. 

SWEET  home  of  my  childhood  ! 

My  heart  turns  to  thee, 
As  when  through  thy  wild-wood, 

My  steps  wandered  free ; 
But  sadness  comes  o'er  me, 

And  tear-drops  will  gleam, 
Since  thou  art  before  me, 

The  light  of  a  dream ; 
Ah !  dearest  old  mansion, 

I  cleave  to  thee  still, 
As  when  in  my  childhood, 

I  crossed  o'er  thy  sill. 

H. 

The  love  that  enshrined  thee, 
In  childhood's  bright  hour, 


DEAREST    OLD    MANSION. 

Unshaken,  still  binds  thee 

With  sanctified  power. 
Though  fairest  I  knew  thee, 

Yet  now  thou  dost  seem 
A  heaven,  as  I  viewed  thee 

The  light  of  a  dream. 
Ah  !  dearest  old  mansion, 

I  cleave  to  thee  still, 
As  when  in  my  childhood 

I  crossed  o'er  thy  sill. 

^j%  • 

in. 

The, flowers  are  all  blighted 

Which  grew  at  thy  door, 
Where  once  we  delighted 

To  gather  of  yore, 
And  ivy  is  twining 

The  moss-covered  beam, 
But  thou  art  still  shining, 

The  light  of  a  dream. 
Ah !  dearest  old  mansion, 

I  cleave  to  thee  still, 
As  when  in  my  childhood 

I  crossed  o'er  thy  sill. 


116  DEABEST    OLD    MANSION. 

IV. 

All,  all  is  decaying, 

Thy  loved  ones  are  gone, 
And  lonely  I'm  straying 

The  path  up  the  lawn  : 
But,  home  of  my  childhood ! 

My  heart  turns  to  thee, 
As  when  through  thy  wild- wood, 

My  steps  wandered  free. 
Ah  !  dearest  old  mansion, 

I  cleave  to  thee  still,  . 

As  when  in  my  childhood 

I  crossed  o'er  thy  sill. 


117 


BETTER   LATE   THAN  NEVER. 

MUSIC   BY    "  MARIE   MADAVORT." 
I. 

LIFE  is  a  race  where  some  succeed, 

While  others  are  beginning ; 
'T  is  luck  at  tunes,  at  others  speed, 

That  gives  an  early  winning. 
But  if  you  chance  to  fall  behind, 

Ne'er  slacken  your  endeavor ; 
Just  keep  this  wholesome  truth  in  mind,  — 

'T  is  better  late  than  never. 

ii. 

If  you  can  keep  ahead,  't  is  well, 

But  never  trip  your  neighbor  ; 
'T  is  noble  when  you  can  excel 

By  honest,  patient  labor. 
But,  if  you  are  outstripped  at  last, 

Press  on  as  bold  as  ever; 
Remember,  though  you  are  surpassed, 

'T  is  better  late  than  never  ! 


118  BETTER    LATE    THAN    NEVER. 

III. 

Ne'er  labor  for  an  idle  boast 

Of  victory  o'er  another, 
But,  while  you  strive  your  uttermost, 

Deal  fairly  with  a  brother. 
Whate'er  your  station,  do  your  best, 

And  hold  your  purpose  ever ; 
And  if  you  fail  to  beat  the  rest, 

'T  is  better  late  than  never ! 

rv. 
Choose  well  the  path  in  which  you  run, 

Succeed  by  noble  daring ; 
Then,  though  the  last,  when  once  't  is  won, 

Your  crown  is  worth  the  wearing. 
Then  never  fret  if  left  behind, 

Nor  slacken  your  endeavor ; 
But  ever  keep  this  truth  in  mind,  — 

'T  is  better  late  than  never ! 


119 


HIT   THE   NAIL    ON  THE   HEAD. 


THIS  world  has  a  treasure  for  every  true  heart, 

That  seeks  it  undaunted  through  trial  and  need ; 
The  secret  to  find  it  is,  act  well  your  part, 

Whatever  your  station,  and  you  will  succeed. 
Be  truthful  and  earnest  wherever  you  go  ; 

Hold  toil  as  a  blessing  that  sweetens  your  bread  ; 
Give  your  heart  to  each  duty,  your  strength  to  each 
blow, 

And  with  every  stroke,  hit  the  nail  on  the  head. 

ii. 
This  world  is  no  hive  where  the  drone  may  repose, 

While  others  are  gleaning  its  honey  with  care ; 
Nor  will  he  succeed  who  is  dealing  his  blows 

At  random,  and  recklessly  hits  everywhere. 
But  choose  well  your  purpose,  then  breast  to  the  strife, 

And  hold  to  it  firmly,  by  rectitude  led; 
Give  your  heart  to  your  duty,  and  strike  for  your  life, 

And  with  every  stroke,  hit  the  nail  on  the  head. 


120  HIT   THE   NAIL    ON   THE   HEAD. 

III. 

If  fate  is  against  you,  ne'er  falter  nor  fret, 

'T  will  not  mend  your  fortunes  nor  lighten  your  load ; 
Be  earnest,  still  earnest,  and  you  will  forget 

You  e'er  had  a  burden  to  bear  on  the  road. 
And  when  at  the  close,  what  a  pleasure  to  know 

That  you,  never  flinching,  however  life  sped, 
Gave  your  heart  to  your  duty,  your  strength  to  each 
blow, 

And  with  every  stroke,  hit*the  nail  on  the  head. 


121 


WHEN   JOY'S    FULL  TIDE   IS    HUSHING. 

MUSIC   BY   CHARLES   C.    CONVERSE,  ESQ. 
I. 

WHEN  joy's  full  tide  is  rushing 

With  rapture  through  the  soul, 
The  voice  of  sorrow  hushing 

By  its  divine  control, 
Then  thoughts  of  the  departed 

Return  in  memory's  tram, 
As  though  the  joyous-hearted 

Enticed  them  back  again. 


They  come,  no  forms  revealing, 
No  sound  breaks  on  the  ear, 

But  a  sweet  and  holy  feeling 
Evinces  they  are  near. 
11 


122  WHEN  JOT'S   FULL   TIDE   IS   BUSHING. 

There  is  a  blissful  meeting, 

An  interchange  of  love, 
A  mystic  spirit-greeting, 

Known  but  to  those  above. 

HI. 

When  thoughts  of  crushing  sadness 

Are  from  the  spirits  thrown, 
They  mingle  in  our  gladness, 

And  share  with  us  their  own ; 
With  every  joy  imparted, 

The  dearly  loved  of  yore, 
From  memory's  slumber  started, 

Revisit  us  once  more. 


123 


O,    SAY    NOT    FRIENDSHIP   IS    A   NAME, 

i. 

0,  SAY  not  friendship  is  a  name, 

Used  only  for  betraying ; 
That  none  e'er  feel  the  sacred  flame 

When  fortune  is  decaying. 
No,  there  are  hearts  that  never  range, 

When  once  their  truth  is  ph'ghted, 
But  are  the  same  when  years  of  change 

The  fairest  hopes  have- blighted. 

ii. 

O,  say  not  friendship  is  a  word, 

'  Forgotten  when  't  is  spoken, — 
A  vow  the  ear  has  often  heard, 

No  sooner  made  than  broken. 
Ah,  no  !  it  is  a  sacred  thing, 

Still  in  the  bosom  cherished, 
The  fountain  whence  our  pleasures,  .spring, 

When  other^jpys  have  perished. 


124  O,     SAY   NOT   FRIENDSHIP   IS    A    NAME. 

HI. 

O,  call  it  not  an  idle  dream 

Of  fancy's  airy  weaving, 
A  false  and  evanescent  gleam, 

When  brightest,  still  deceiving. 
No,  no  !  believe  me,  thou  wilt  find 

Thy  love  and  truth  requited, 
And  in  the  heart  their  joys  enshrined, 

When  other  hopes  are  blighted. 


125 


THE    ANGELS    TOLD    ME    SO. 

FOR  MUSIC. 
I. 

THOUGH  they  may  lay  beneath  the  ground 

The  form  of  Allie  dear, 
I  know  his  spirit  hovers  round, 

And  mingles  with  us  here. 
His  home  "may  be  in  heaven  above ; 

Yet  oft  to  us  below 
He  will  return  to  breathe  his  love,  — 

The  angels  told  me  so. 

IT. 
His  form  reposed  upon  the  bier 

In  sweet  cherubic  rest, 
When  others  came  to  shed  the  tear, 

And  ease  the  aching  breast ; 
But  Willie  felt  no  throbbing  pain, 

As  he  repeats,  "  I  know 
Dear  Allie  will  come  back  again,  — 

The  angels  told  me  so." 
11* 


126  THE   ANGELS   TOLD   ME   SO. 

-      '  % 

in. 

And  as  he  gazed  his  eyes  grew  bright, 

And  joy  o'erspread  his  brow, 
As  he  exclaims,  in  rapt  delight, 

."  O,  there  is  Allie  now ! 
I  knew  he  would  return  to  see 

Those  he  so  loved  below, 
And  be  a  brother  still  to  me,  — 

The  angels  told  me  so ! " 


127 


"MEMORY'S    LEAVES." 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 
THE  heart  is  like  a  stainless  page, 

Ere  Time  has  traced  it  o'er  with  care; 
But  every  thought  that  may  engage 

Will  leave  its  light  or  shadow  there. 
As  moments  quickly  fly  apace, 

And  Fate  his  web  unceasing  weaves 
Tn  lines  that  we  can  ne'er  deface, 

Each  scene  is  left  on  " Memory's  Leaves" 


n. 

Each  soul  is  but  a  living  book, 

With  Tune's  imprint  on  every  part, 

Where  but  the  spirit's  eye  can  look, 
To  read  the^chapters  on  the  heart. 


128  MEMORY'S  LEAVES. 

And  I  have  read  thine  o'er  and  o'er, 

Till  every  thought  mine  own  perceives ; 

And,  treasured  in  its  inmost  core, 

Thy  truth  is  'graved  on  "  Memory's  Leaves" 

m. 
In  every  chamber  of  the  mind 

Some  picture  of  the  past  I  see, 
But  in  remembrance  still  I  find 

The  brightest  one  resembles  thee. 
O,  there  are  scenes  we  would  forget, 

O'er  which  the  spirit  sadly  grieves  ; 
But  not  an  hour  since  first  we  met 

But  glows  with  love  on  " Memory's  Leaves" 

IV. 

On  every  page  in  memory's  folds 

Some  dear  affection  is  enshrined, 
Which  still  the  heart  enchanted  holds, 

When  years  have  swept  across  the  mind. 
But  when  I  seek  the  cherished  one 

To  which  my  spirit  ever  cleaves, 
My  thoughts  still  o'er  the  brightest  run, 

To  fix  on  thine  in  "  Memory's  Leaves" 


129 


HOME    IS    WHERE    THE    HEART    IS. 

>  MUSIC   BY    "  MARIE   MADWORT." 

I. 

I  OFFER  thee  no  treasured  gold, 
*     No  palace  opes  the  door ; 
My  sum  of  Avealth  is  soonest  told, 

I  own  that  I  am  poor. 
To  live  in  fond  affection's  shrine 

On  earth  my  only  part  is, 
But  you  shall  prove,  in  sharing  mine, 

That  home  is  where  the  heart  is. 


ii. 

I  offer  not  the  love  untried, 
Which  ardent  youth  bestows, 

But  that  which  time  has  sanctified. 
Still  deepning  as  it  flows. 


130  HOME   IS   WHERE  THE   HEART   IS. 

If  love  like  this  your  heart  can  bind, 
Though  mine  a  humble  part  is, 

Come,  share  my  lot,  and  you  shall  find 
That  home  is  where  the  heart  is. 

in. 

I  offer  not  a  home  where  care 

And  pain  have  never  been, 
For  grief  has  often  entered  there, 

And  may  return  again  ; 
But,  if  affections  that  will  grow, 

Whate'er  in  life  our  part  is, 
Are  what  you  seek, —  then,  come  and^know 

That  home  is  where  the  heart  is. 


131 


THE    HORSE  AND   THE    RAILROAD. 


FOB  MUSIC. 


HA  !  HA  !  how  I  welcome  the  fiery-lunged  steed, 

As  he  rushes  along  with  a  scream, 
For  it  leaves  me  in  freedom  to  bound  o'er  the  mead, 

While  they  do  up  their  labor  by  steam. 
No  more  will  the  saddle  be  galling  my  back, 

As  jogging  with  grist  to  the  mill ; 
No  tugging  at  burdens  too  heavy  to  pack, 

When  stuck  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Ha !  ha !  how  I  'm  freed  by  the  fiery-lunged  steed, 

As  he  rushes  along  with  a  scream, 
For  it  leaves  me  in  freedom  to  bound  o'er  the  mead, 

While  they  do  up  their  labor  by  steam. 

n. 

Ha !  ha !    how  I  welcome  the  iron-bound  road, 
And  the  laying  of  cross-tie  and  beam, 


132  THE   HORSE   AND   THE   RAILROAD. 

For  it  saves  me  the  galling  of  collar  and  load, 

While  they  do  up  their  labor  by  steam. 
Away  with  the  plough  and  the  cart  ever  more, 

To  mules  such  as  Dobbin  and  John  ; 
If  harnessed  at  all,  'tis  a  "  full  coach  and  four," 

Filled  up  with  the  best  of  the  ton. 
Ha !  ha  !  how  I  neigh  as  I  'm  prancing  away, 

When  the  car  rushes  by  with  a  scream  ; 
For  it  leaves  me  in  freedom  to  roam  all  the  day, 

While  they  do  up  their  labor  by  steam. 

in. 
Ha !  ha !  I  delight  in  the  rushing  of  trains, 

Though  they  startle  anon  with  a  scream ; 
For  they  leave  me  uncurbed  by  the  bit  or  the  reins, 

While  they  do  up  their  labor  by  steam. 
Again,  as  the  chargers  so  famous  of  old, 

The  hero  to  battle  I'll  bear ; 
And  when  his  high  daring  in  story  is  told, 

His  glory  and  honor  1 11  share. 
Ha !  ha !  how  I  'm  freed  by  the  fiery-lunged  steed, 

As  he  rushes  along  with  a  scream, 
For  it  leaves  me  in  freedom  to  bound  o'er  the  mead, 

While  they  do  up  their  labor  by  steam. 


133 


IN  THE   LIGHT   OF   THINE  EYES. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

• 

I. 

As  the  star  in  the  skies  and  the  dew  on  the  lea, 
Thus  pure  is  the  spirit  that  slumbers  in  thee ; 
O  waken,  sweet  lady,  and  list  to  my  lay, 
For  thy  smile  is  the  day-star  that  lightens  my  way. 
O  awake,  lady,  wake, 

From  thy  dreaming  arise, 

And  the  dawning  will  break 

In  the  light  of  thine  eyes. 


ii. 

As  the  flower  in  its  blooming,  the  pearl  in  its  shell, 
The  thoughts  of  thy  bosom  in  purity  dwell ; 
O  wake,  gentle  lady,  and  list  to  my  strain, 
For  thy  love  is  the  link  in  my  destiny's  chain. 

12 


134  THE   LIGHT   OF   THINE   EYES. 

Then  awake,  lady,  wake, 
From  thy  dreaming  arise, 

And  the  dawning  will  break 
In  the  light  of  thine  eyes. 

in. 

As  the  life  seeks  the  heart  and  the  needle  the  pole, 
My  spirit  has  sought  thee,  thou  light  of  my  soul ! 

• 

Then  list  to  me,  lady,  while  stars  shine  above ; 
My  heart  will  adore  thee,  unchanged  in  its  love. 
Then  awake,  lady,  wake, 

From  thy  dreaming  arise, 

And  the  dawning  will  break 

In  the  light  of  thine  eyes. 


135 


MY  GENTLE   LIZZIE'S   FAR  AWAY. 

FOR    MUSIC. 

• 

J 

MY  gentle  Lizzie 's  far  away, 

'T  is  long  ere  I  shall  meet  her ; 
But,  in  my  dreams,  and  thoughts  by  day, 

My  spirit  flies  to  greet  her. 
Though  for  a  time  we  dwell  apart, 

No  distance  e'er  can  sever ; 
The  love  that  warms  her  constant  heart 

Will  constant  be  forever. 

ii. 

My  gentle  Lizzie 's  far  away, 

And  I  am  weary  waiting ; 
But,  while  I  chide  the  long  delay, 

One  thought  is  still  elating : 


136  MY   GENTLE   LIZZIE'S   FAK  AWAY. 

Though  many  dreary  years  shall  wane, 
Our  wedded  hearts  to  sever, 

Whene'er  we  fondly  meet  again 
She  '11  constant  be  as  ever. 

in. 

My  gentle  Lizzie 's  far  away, 

And  O  !  my  heart  is  yearning 
To  hail  that  ever-welcome  day 

That  calls  for  her  returning.       • 
But,  till  that  happy  hour  I  see, 

This  thought  shall  cheer  me  ever,  — 
The  love  that  binds  her  heart  to  me 

"Will  changeless  be  forever ! 


137 


SILENT  LOVE. 

FOR  MUSIC. 
I. 

O,  COULDST  thou  know  how  oft  I  strove 

My  prisoned  heart  to  free, 
By  telling  all  the  wealth  of  love 

It  treasures  up  for  thee, 
Thou  wouldst  not -let  me  live  in  fear 

Lest  mine  should  be  the  lot 
To  hear  what  most  I  dread  to  hear,  — 

O  no,  I  love  thee  not ! 


n. 
How  oft  I  gaze  upon  thy  face, 

One  ray  of  hope  to  gain ; 
But,  though  each  passion-shade  I  trace, 

Alas,  I  look  in  vain  ! 
12* 


138  SILENT    LOVE. 

Then,  till  thy  smiles  shall  love  betray, 

Let  silence  be  my  lot ; 
For  O,  I  ne'er  could  hear  thee  say, — 

O  no,  I  love  thee  not ! 


139 


OUR  MOTHER'S   GRAVE. 

i. 

OUR  mother  sleeps  beneath  the  ground, 

Where  many  withered  flowers  are  lying, 
So  lately  plucked  and  strewn  around, 

With  trembling  hand  and  bitter  sighing  ; 
But,  though  our  hearts  from  fountains  deep 

Pour  forth  the  grief  they  cannot  smother, 
We  love  to  go  at  eve  and  weep 

Where  thou  art  sleeping,  gentle  mother. 

ii. 
We  've  made  thy  grave  beneath  the  tree, 

Where  thou  didst  love  to  sit  at  even, 
When  fairest  flowers  were  on  the  lea 

And  purple  light  was  in  the  heaven. 
And  now,  where  once  thy  feet  would  rest, 

We  often -meet  to  greet  each  other, 
And  strew  fresh  flowers  upon  thy  breast, 

And?  bless .  again  our<  gentle  mother. 


140  OUR  MOTHER'S  GRAVE. 

in. 
We  soon  must  leave  the  dear  old  home, 

And  wide  on  earth  our  paths  may  sever, 
But,  wheresoe'er  our  steps  may  roam, 

Our  hearts  will  mingle  here  forever ; 
And  memory  oft  will  drop  the  tear, 

And  call  forth  grief  we  would  not  smother, 
As  we  in  soul  still  linger  near 

Where  thou  art  sleeping,, gentle  mother. 


141 


MINNIE   GREY. 

MUSIC  BT  H.   TTTCKER,  ESQ. 
I. - 

SADLY  .now  I  make  my  mourn, 

Breathing  forth  my  life  in  sighs  ; 
Mary  to  the  grave  is  borne, 

And  my  heart  is  where  she  lies. 
Softly,  freely  fall  the  tears, 

Sadly  pass  the  hours  away ; 
Nothing  now  my  spirit  cheers, 

Since  they  buried  Minnie  Grey  ! 

n. 
0,  the  bliss  almost  divine, 

When  her  plighted  love  she  gave ; 
Ah,  how  brief  that  joy  was  mine ! 

Flowers  now  bloom  upon  her  grave. 


142  MINNIE  GREY. 

Softly,  freely  fall  the  tears, 
Sadly  pass  the  hours  away ; 

Nothing  now  my  spirit  cheers, 
Since  they  buried  Minnie  Grey ! 

in. 
Now  my  heart  with  grief  is  riven, 

Hopeless  pass  life's  sands  away ; 
But 't  is  bliss  to  know  in  heaven 

I  shall  meet  sweet  Minnie  Grey. 
Softly,  freely  fall  the  tears, 

Sadly  pass  the  hours  away ; 
Nothing  now  my  spirit  cheers, 

Since  they  buried  Minnie  Grey ! 


143 


IN    BLISS    WE    SHALL   MEET  THEE. 

MUSIC   BY   PROF.    WM.    8TEIBY. 
I. 

How  sad  to  return  to  the  home  where,  light-hearted, 
We  mingled  in  pleasures  of  friendship  each  year, 

And  find  from  its  halls  that  bright  star  has  departed 
Who  once  was  the  light  and  the  life  of  its  sphere. 

IT. 

Her  form,  only  granted  awhile  as  a  token 
Of  love  from  its  Maker,  is  doomed  to  decay ; 

Like  cloud-wreaths  at  evening  which  rude  winds 

have  broken, 
Her  vision-like  beauty  soon  faded  away. 

in. 

We  hung  on  her  lips  as  she  gave  the  last  greeting, 
And  bade  her  adieu  with  a  tear-moistened  eye  ; 
Nor  thought  for  one  moment  't  would  be  our  last 

meeting, 
Till  we  pass  to  her  own  starry  home  in  the  sky. 


144  IN   BLISS    WE    SHALL    MEET   THEE. 


Though  we  hear  not  her  song,  and  beneath  her  light 
fingers 

The  chords  of  the  harp  may  ne'er  thrill  to  her  strain, 
Yet  deep  in  the  memory  a  melody  lingers, 

And  in  its  sweet  echoes  we  hear  her  again. 

v. 

Farewell,  dearest  one  !  thou  wert  early  benighted, 
Ere  well  thou  hadst  launched  thy  frail  bark  from 

the  shore. 

How  oft  in  thy  presence  we've  lingered,  delighted, 
To  hear  those  sweet  strains  that  will  charm  us  no 
more. 

VI. 

Yet  why  should  we  mourn  thee,  though  parted  in 
sorrow, 

Or  at  the  bereavements  of  heaven  complain  ?  - 
But  wait  for  the  dawning  of  that  promised  morrow,  — 

In  bliss  we  shall  meet  thee,  to  part  ne'er  again  ! 


145 


O   NO,  I  AM  NOT  BLIND. 


MtJSIC    BY  W.   ,T.   HEFFERNAN,  ESQ. 
I. 

THEY  tell  me  that  my  face  is  fair, 

And  pleasant  to  behold, 
And  oft  they  stroke  my  silken  hair, 

That  falls  in  many  a  fold ; 
And  then  such  tender  words  they  speak, 

Indeed,  it  is  so  kind ; 
They  whisper,  as  they  kiss  my  cheek,  — 

Alas,  that  she  is  blind ! 

n. 
I  hear  the  birds  in  woodland  bowers, 

Their  forms  I  may  not  see ; 
I  smell  the  fragrant  vernal  flowers, 

How  beauteous  they  must  be ! 

13 


146  O   NO,   I  AM  NOT   BLIND. 

They  say  the  stars  shine  every  night, 

To  gladden  all  mankind ; 
But  not  one  ray  breaks  on  my  sight,  — 

Alas,  that  I  am  blind ! 

m. 

I  hear  the  tread  of  merry  feet, 

But  slow  my  step  must  be, 
And  when  the  joyous  group  I  meet, 

Their  smiles  I  cannot  see ; 
And  if  I  mingle  in  their  plays, 

Anon  I  'm  sure  to  find 
I  am  debarred  such  sportive  ways, — 

Alas,  that  I  am  blind  1 

IV. 

Yet  deem  not  that  I  e'er  complain 

That  sightless  orbs  were  given, 
For  He  who  formed  them  thus  doth  deign 

The  purer  light  of  heaven ; 
And  though  these  ey^es  in  darkness  roll, 

The  visions  of  the  mind 
Like  sunlight  lie  upon  the  soul,  — 

O  no,  I  am  not  blind ! 


147 


THE    GOLDEN    RULE. 

MUSIC  BY   "  MARIE,  MADWOKT." 
I. 

IN  the.  bustle  of  life,  when  the  truth  of  the  heart 

Is  tried  by  a  selfish  controlf 
Where,  where  is  a  refuge  to  shield,  and  impart 

True  light  to  a  heaven-born  soul  ? 
O,  pause  not  to  ask  what  the  wisest  would  do, 

Their  wisdom  ne'er  found  such  a  gem : 
"  All  things  that  ye  would  men  should  do  unto  you, 

Do  ye  even  so  unto  them." 

ii. 

If  thou  and  thy  brother  have  aught  to  decide, 

And  fail  at  the  last  to  agree, 
Ne'er  bring  to  another  thy  cause  to -be -tried, 

As  erring  and  selfish  as  he. 


148  THE   GOLDEN   RULE. 

No, — judge  for  thyself  by  this  rule,  ever  true, 

Ere  thou  dost  a  brother  condemn : 
"  All  things  that  ye  would  men  should  do  unto  you, 
Do  ye  even  so  unto  them." 

m. 

If  a  dark  wave  of  trouble  has  swept  o'er  a  soul, 

And  a  cry  has  gone  forth  for  relief, 
Ne'er  pause  ere  you  give,  nor  thy  charity;  dole, 

Lest  thou  add  a  new  pang  to  the  grief. 
Still  follow  the  rule  that  is  changeless  and  true, 

And  ne'er  will  thy  conscience  condemn : 
"  All  things  that  ye  would  men  should  do  unto  you, 

Do  ye  even  so  unto  them." 


149 


MOTHER   DEAE,  GOOD-BY. 

MUSIC  By  "MARIE  MADWOBT." 
% 

I. 
THE  hour  has  come  to.  say  farewell, 

And  yet  we  linger  near, 
Still  loth  to  break  the  sacred  spell 
Which  long  has  bound  us  here. 
But,  while  a  choking  fills  the  heart, 

And  burning  tears  each  eye, 
Once  more,  ere  we  asunder  part, 
0  mother  dear,  good-by ! 

n. 

The  hour  has  come  when  home  can  be 

**» 

A  home  to  us  no  more ; 
But  we  would  linger  near  to  thee 
A  moment,  ere  't  is  o'er. 


150  MOTHER  DEAR,   GOOD-BT. 

Once  more  upon  that  bosom  rest, 
Whose  love  can  never  die ; 

Claim  one  embrace,  so  long,  so  blest,  — 
Then,  mother  dear,  good-by ! 

m. 

When,  at  the  quiet  hour  of  even, 

Forgetting  worldly  care, 
Thine  eye  of  faith  looks  up  to  heaven, 

Still  breathe  for  us  thy  prayer. 
Now,  while  a  choking  fills  the  heart, 

And  burning  tears  each  eye, 
Once  more,  ere  we  asunder  part, 

O  mother  dear,  good-by ! 


151 


LOVE'S    INTERPRETERS. 

FOB  MUSIC. 
I. 

«>lN*Eastern  lands  they  talk  with  flowers/' 

In  floral  speech  their  loves  disclose ; 
They  sit  at  eve  'neath  vocal  bowers, 

To  learn  the  accents  of  the  rose. 
Arid  when  no  words'  the  heart  can  free, 

Or  tell  its  pleasure  or  its  pain, 
Ajgift  of  flowers  from  off  the  lea 

Interprets  all,  and  makes  it  plain. 

u. 

Whene'er  in  words  I  strive  to  tell 

The  love  my  heart  has  garnered  long, 

Emotions  deep  within  me  swell, 

And  choke  the  utterance  of  the  tongue. 


152  LOVE'S   INTERPRETERS. 

Then,  take  the  simple  wreath  I  twine 
Of  vocal  flowers  from  off  the  lea ; 

The  language  that  they  speak  is  mine, 
Revealing  all  my  soul  to  thee. 


153 


WAITING  FOR  THEE  AT  HOME. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

WITH  longing  and  looking  to  see  thee  again, 

Our  hearts  have  grown  sad,  and  our  eyes  dim  with 
tears; 

Each  moment  you  tarry  increases  the  pain 

We  Ve  felt  for  the  ahsent,  these  long,  weary  years. 

Then  come,  we  are  waiting  —  0,  why  dost  thou  roam, 

When  true  hearts  are  longing  to  welcome  thee  home  ? 

n. 

When  round  the  loved  circle  we  gather  at  night, 
We  pensively  gaze  on  the  vacant  old  chair; 

For,  though  thou  art  wandering  and  far  from  our  sight, 
That  place  is  held  sacred,  reserved  for  thee,  there. 

Then  come,  we  are  waiting  —  O,  why  dost  thou  roam, 

When  loved  ones  are  longing  to  welcome  thee  home  ? 


154  WAITING  FOR  THEE  AT  HOME. 

in. 

Though  pleasures  may  lure  thee,  and  genius  may  shine, 
Remember  the  absent  still  love  thee  most  dear ; 

And  O,  should  misfortune  or  sorrow  be  thine, 

'* 

The  only  hearts  grieving  would  grieve  for  thee  here. 
Then  come,  we  are  waiting  —  Oj  cease  now  to  roam, 
And  fond  hearts  most  gladly  will  welcome  thee  home ! 


155 


THE    MOTHER'S    LAST    GREETING. 

i 
WE  gathered  round  her  lonely  bed 

When  death  was  lingering  nigh, 
As  pallid  grew  her  cheek  and  lip, 

And  dim  the  lustrous  eye ; 
But  peace  was  hers,  and  joy  as  sweet 

As  angels  ever  knew, 
When  she  bestowed  her  parting  kiss, 

And  sighed  her  last  adieu. 

n. 

Ah,  well  she  knew  our  trusting  hearts, 
And  gave  back  love  for  love;  * 

But  stronger  ties  than  earth  can  bind 
Had  linked  her  soul  above. 

One  earnest,  tender  look  she  gave, 
And  life's  last  pang  was  o'er ; 

But  long  there  lingered  on  her  lips,  — 

"'Adieu !  we  meet  no  more ! " 


156  THE  MOTHER'S  LAST  GREETING. 

in. 

A  calmness  settled  on  her  brow, 
Whose  light  had  ceased  to  burn ; 

And,  when  we  pressed  her  lips  in  grief, 
We  felt  no  warm  return. 

Yet,  as  we  lingered  by  her  side, 
And  wept,  a  soft  refrain 

Like  spirit  murmurs  filled  the  room,  — 
"  In  heaven  we  meet  again ! " 

IV. 

That  last  fond  greeting,  mother,  dear, 

We  never  can  forget, 
For  thou  art  living  in  our  hearts 

In  saint-like  beauty  yet; 
And,  though  we  weep  beside  thy  grave, 
•     It  is  a  pleasing  pain, 
For  then  we  hear  that  spirit  voice.  -— 
"'In*heaven  we  meet  again!" 


157 


O,  WHAT    DO   THE    BIRDS   SAT? 

MUSIC  BY  N.   C.  MOBSE,  ESQ. 
I. 

O,  WHAT  do  the  birds  say, 

In  the  bright  hours  of  spring, 
As  they  carol  away 

On  their  joyous  wing? 
Now  the  winter  is  over, 

The  bleak  winds  are  gone, 
And  sweet-scented  clover 

Empurples  the  lawn, 
O,  hear  what  the  birds  say, 

And  breathe  it  to  me : 
Their  song  is  a  love  lay,- — 

E-ral-ee,  e-ral-ee, 
Their  song  is  a>love=lay, 
Erral-ee. 

14 


158  O,   WHAT  DO  THE  BERDS   SAY? 

n. 
O,  what  do  the  birds  say, 

Now  summer  is  past, 
And  the  forests  are  gray 

As  they  sway  to  the  blast? 
The  sweet  flowers  are  blighted, 

The  glad  days  are  o'er, 
And  scenes  that  delighted, 

Rebrighten  no  more. 
O, -hear  what  the  birds  say, 

And  breathe  it  to,  me : 
They  still  sing  their  love  lay, — 

E-ral-ee,  e-ral-ee, 
They  still  sing  their  love  lay, 
E-ral-ee. 


159 


THERE  IS  A  WORD  WHICH  OTHERS  SPEAK. 


MUSIC  BY  VAN  DEB  WEYDB. 
I. 

THERE  is  a  word  which  others  speak 

As  though  it  were  a  common  word ; 
It  brings  no  paleness  to  the  cheek, 

Nor  are  the  depths  of  feeling  stirred. 
But,  when  I  must  pronounce  that  sound, 

Emotions  wildly  in  me  swell, 
For  O,  my  heart  receives  a  wound, 

Whene'er  my  lips  have  said  — farewell! 

n. 

That  sacred  name  on  trifling  lips 
May  have  an  utterance  every  hour, 

As  from  their  tongues  it  lightly  trips, 
Their  hearts  unconscious  of  its  power ; 


160      THERE  IS   A   WORD   WHICH   OTHERS   SPE*AK. 

But  o'er  my  soul  it  holds  a  sway, 
That  seals  my  lips  as  with  a  spell. 

When  called  to  part,  and  part  for  aye, 
'Tis  only  then  I  say — farewell! 

m. 

In  fashion's  gay  and  heartless  throng, 

And  where  the  busy  crowds  repair, 
That  word  is  often  on  the  tongue, 

As  though  'twere  meant  for  utterance  there; 
But  when  my  lips  must  breathe  that  tone, 

Ere  from  my  tongue  its  accents  fell, 
I  'd  seek  some  place,  and  there  alone 

To  those  I  love,  would  say — farewell! 


16.1 


DO  NOT  TARRY  LONG. 

MUSIC  BT  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

THOUGH  you  must  go,  't  is  hard  to  part," 

Since  it  will  break  home's  sacred  spell ; 
Yet  I  will  chide  my  aching  heart, 

And  calmly  say,  farewell ! 
But,  when  afar,  remember  me, 

As  other  friends  around  thee  throng; 
Think  how  my  heart  still  cleaves  to  thee, 

And  do  not  tarry  long. 

n. 

When  other  scenes  shall  charm  thy  sight, 

And  every  hour  and  thought  employ, 
And  in  a  round  of  gay  delight, 

Thou  hast  thy  fill  of  joy; 
u* 


162  DO   NOT  TARRY  LONG. 

O,  let  your  heart  to  me  return, 
And  do  not  deem  it  very  wrong 

If  for  thy  presence  I  should  yearn; 
And  do  not  tarry  long. 

in. 
Farewell !    I  would  not  bid  thee  stay, 

When  loving  hearts  are  waiting  thee ; 
I  only  crave,  where'er  you  stray, 

That  you  remember  me. 
And  if  my  lonely  heart  should  yearn 

Till  grief  become  intensely  strong, 
And  I  should  ask  thee  to  return, 

Then  do  not  tarry  long. 


163 


THE   FOREST  BURIAL. 


MUSIC  BT   G.   APPXTNN. 
I. 

REST  thee,  loved  one!    We  have  laid  thee 

Where  the  wild  wood  maketh  sighs, 
Tears  perfume  the  bed  we  made  thee 

Where  the  withered  foliage  lies. 
Distant  from  thy  native  dwelling 

We  must  chant  thy  requiem ; 
Few  the  hearts  with  sadness  swelling, 

Few  will  join  the  funeral  hymn. 

n. 

On  the  morrow  we  must  leave  thee, 
Lonely  in  thy  woodland  grave, 

Where  the  vine  a  tomb  shall  weave  thee, 
Creeping  where  the  branches  wave. 


164  THE  FOREST   BURIAL. 

All  thy  love,  let  Nature  breathe  it, 
When  the  vernal  hours  return ; 

Write  thy  name  with  flowers,  and  wreathe  it 
Bound  thy  holy  forest  urn ! 


165 


LITTLE   EVA'S  VISION* 


MUSIC  BT  HENRI  VASOtJVEK. 

["  Tom  sung  the  words  of  a  well-known  Methodist  hymn : 

"  '  I  see  a  band  of  spirits  bright, 
That  taste  the  glories  there; 
They  all  are  robed  in  spotless  white, 
And  conquering  palms  they  bear.' 

" '  Uncle  Tom,  I  've  seen  them,'  said  Eva.  '  They  come  to  me 
sometimes  in  my  sleep,  those  spirits ; '  and  Eva's  eyes  grew  dreamy, 
and  she  hummed,  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  '  They  all  are  robed  in 'spotless  white, 
And  conquering  palms  they  bear.' 

" '  Uncle  Tom/  said  Eva,  '  I  'm  going  there ! ' "] 

I. 
O'Tojf!    I've  seen  those  spirits  bright, 

How  glorious  they  appear ; 
They  come  around  my  bed  at  night, 

I  love  to  have  them  near. 

*Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  Vol.-n.  p  64. 


166  LITTLE   EVA'S   YISION. 

For  then  I  see  into  the  skies, 

* 

Where  all  is  bright  and  fair  ; 

And  O,  no  tears  can  dim  the  eyes 

Of  those  who  dwell  up  there. 

•  ii. 

And  when  in  grief  I  fall  asleep, 

Those  shining  ones  are  near, 
And  whisper,  "  Eva,  do  not  weep; 

"We  '11  wipe  away  each  tear." 
And  then  they  sing  of  heavenly  love, 

Till  I  forget  all  care; 
They  tell  me  I  Ve  a  home  above, 

And  soon  they  '11  take  me  there ! 

m. 

E'en  now,  dear  Tom,  they  round  me  throng, 

In  spotless  robes  of  white; 
I  hear  again  their  heavenly  song, 

And  O,  what  strange  delight ! 
Now,  now  they  beckon  with  their  hands, 

And  point  where  all  is  fair ; 
O,  how  I  long  to  join  those  bands, 

And,  Tom,  I'm  going  there! 


LITTLE   EVA'S   VISION.  167 


IV. 

A  slumber  soft  as  angels  know 

On  Eva's  spirit  lies, 
And  dreams  too  bright  for  aught  below 

Dwell  on  her  raptured  eyes. 
She  murmurs  "all  are  robed  in  white, 

And  conquering  palms  they  bear; 
In  that  sweet  land  there  is  no  night, 

And  I  am  going  there ! " 


168 


THE   ECHOING  HORN. 


MUSIC   BT  PROF.    T.    WOOD. 
I. 

WHEN  evening's  soft  twilight  the  day-toil  is  closing, 
And  the  reaper  returns  with  his  wain-load  of  corn, 

Far  o'er  the  sweet  valley  in  silence  reposing 
We  hear  the  full  strains  of  the  echoing  horn, 
The  echoing  horn  —  Oo-le-oo,  oo-le-oo. 

• 

ii. 

As  night  in  its  beauty  is  calmly  advancing, 

And  the  hum  of  the  village  is  hushed  on  the  ear, 

Then  o'er  the  still  waters,  with  echoes  entrancing, 
From  yon  distant  hamlet,  its  mellow  notes  cheer; 
Its  mellow  notes  cheer  —  Oo-le-oo,  oo-le-oo. 


THE   ECHOING  HORN.  169 

III. 

A  charm  o'er  the  spirit  is  tranquilly  stealing, 

As  I  list  to  the  swell  of  that  heart-stirring  strain; 

It  brings  to  the  bosom  a  wild  gush  of  feeling, 
And  all  the  bright  dreams  of  my  boyhood  again ; 
Sweet  echoing  horn  —  Oo-le-oo,  oo-le-oo. 
15 


170 


FAE  AWAY— FAE  AWAY. 


MUSIC  BT  E.   Z.   WEBSTEB,  ESQ. 
I. 

FAR  away,  far  away,  I  am  wandering  with  thee, 
O'er  desert,  and  mountain,  and  dark  rolling  sea ; 
Where'er  in  the  wide  world  thy  lot  may  be  cast 
My  spirit  goes  with  thee,  and  loves  to  the  last. 

n. 

Far  away,  far  away,  where'er  thou  shalt  rove, 
My  heart  will  go  with  thee,  unchanged  in  its  love; 
The  ties  that  have  bound  us  no  distance  can  rend, 
For  hearts  that  love  truly  will  love  to  the  end. 

• 
in. 

Far  away,  far  away,  when  others  shall  smile, 
Eemember  there 's  one  who  is  sad  all  the  while ; 
Whose  spirit  was  near  thee  each  step  thou  hast  -traced, 
AS  true  as  when  last  we  so  fondly  embraced. 


FAB  AWAY FAR   AWAY.  171 

IV. 

Far  away,  far  away,  if  doomed  still  to  rove, 
O,  tell  me  tliy  heart  is  unchanged  in  its  love; 
Though  distance  may  sunder,  our  spirits  will  blend, 
For  hearts  loving  truly  will  love  to  the  end. 


172 


THE   PRIDE  OF  MY   HEART. 


MUSIC  BY  WM.   DRESSLER,   ESQ. 
II. 

WHEN  mingling  where  beauty's  enchantment  be'guiles, 
I  feel  not  its  rapture,  and  cold  are  its  smiles; 
One  thought  fills  my  bosom  and  dwells  ever  there,-— 
With  dearest  Estelle  no  one  can  compare. 
I  heed  not  when  music  flows  sweetly  around; 
It  falls  on  my  ear,  but  I  hear  not  the  sound, 
For  I  think  of  the  rapture  that  song  would  impart, 
If  "breathed  by  Estelle,  the  pride  of  my  heart! 
•  •  • 

m. 

When,  toasting  the  fairest,  all  join  in  their  praise, 
My  lips  are  still  silent,  and  absent  my  gaze; 
O,  would  she  were  present,  to  vie  with  them  there,  — 
'T  would  be  to  Estelle,  the  fairest  of  fair! 


THE   PRIDE   OF   MY  HEART.  173 

Though  absent,  I  care  not;  she's  dear  to  me  still; 
No  distance  can  sunder,  nor  changes  e'er  chill,  — 
For  my  spirit  will  cherish  till  life  shall  depart, 
My  peerless  Estelle,  the  pride  of  my  heart! 
15* 


174 


THE  SWING. 


MTTSIC  BY  PROF.  JOS.   B.   SMITH. 


'NEATH  the  cool  and  verdant  shade, 

On  the  old  oak's  giant  limb, 
We  secure  the  cords  have  made, 
All  is  safe,  the  balance  trim; 
Swing  —  swing, 

To  and  fro, 
On  the  wing, 
High  —  low, 
Here  —  there, 
Undulating  through  the  air. 

H. 

Beauty  on  the  cheek  will  glow, 
Kisses  sweet  from  balmy  air, 

Where  the  swing  waves  to  and  fro, 
Let  us  to  its  joys  repair; 


THE   SWING.  175 

Swing  —  swing, 

To  and  fro, 
On  the  wing, 

High  —  low, 

Here  —  there, 
Springing  through  the  yielding  air. 

in. 
'Tis  delightful  thus  to  go 

Gently  gliding  here  and  there, 
Hither,  thither,  to  and  fro, 
Floating  like  a  bird  in  air; 
Swing  —  swing, 

To  and  fro, 
On  the  whig, 
High  —  low, 
Here  —  there, 
Up  and  down,  —  't  is  pleasure  rare ! 


176 


THE  CKOOKED-NECKED  GOURD. 

MUSIC  BY  E.  Z.  WEBSTEE,  ESQ. 
I. 

THE  rich  and  the  noble  may  spurn  aught  but  gold, 

And  drink  for  their  pleasure  the  choicest  of  wine, 
Or  else,  for  a  goblet  their  dainties  to  hold, 

May  seek  for  the  ore  of  Potosi's  rich  mine ; 
But  ne'er  to  my  lips  will  it  taste  half  so  sweet, 

From  golden,  or  silver,  or  crystal  when  poured, 
As  the  cool,  sparkling  drops  which  my  thirsty  lips  meet, 

Just  dipped  from  the  spring,  in  the  crooked-necked 
gourd. 

n. 
The  banqueting  hall  may  its  riches  display, 

And  thousands  attract  to  its  pleasures  again, — 
Its  visions  of  lightness  will  soon  pass  away, 

And  naught  but  a  sense  of  deception  remain; 


THE   CKOOKED-NECKED    GOUKD.  177 

But  the  innocent  joys  which  the  heart  often  felt 
With  memory's  bright  pictures  are  carefully  stored ; 

And  oft  we  revert  to  the  time  when  we  knelt, 

And  dipped  the  cool  draught  with  the  crooked-necked 
gourd. 

m. 

Though  the  silver  and  gold  may  be  pure  to  the  lips, 

No  taint  to  the  bright  flowing  liquid  impart, 
While  the  emblem  of  truth  from  the  beaker  one  sips, 

A  stain  of  pollution  is  left  on  the  heart; 
But,  hung  by  a  string  to  the  moss-covered  wall, 

A  truth  and  a  pleasure  't  will  always  afford,  — 
Be  humble,  be  useful,  to  one  and  to  all, 

Is  the  lesson  we  learn  from  the  crooked-necked  gourd. 


178 


THE  INDIAN'S   SONG  OF  PEACE. 


MUSIC  BT  W.  J.  HEFFEMAN,  ESQ. 
I. 

I  VE  plucked  the  war-plume  from  my  hair,  my  hair, 
I've  plucked  the  war-plume  from  my  hair, 
And  wiped  from  my  face 
The  last  lingering  trace  • 
Of  ghastly  war-paint  that  was  there,  was  there, 
Of  ghastly  war-paint  that  was  there. 

» 
n. 

My  bow  I  have  broken  in  twain,  in  twain, 
My  bow  I  have  broken  in  twain ; 
My  hatchet  shall  rust, 
And  crumble  to  dust,  — 
In  war  I  '11  ne'er  wield  it  again,  again, 
In  war  I'll  ne'er  wield  it  again. 


THE  INDIAN'S  SONG  OF  PEACE.      179 

in. 

I'll  dance  with  my  tribe  never  more,  never  mofe, 
I  '11  dance  with  my  tribe  never  more, 
And  never  again 
Shall  scalp  of  the  slain 
Be  hung  at  my  belt  in  its  gore,  its  gore, 
Be  hung  at  my  belt  in  its  gore. 

IV. 

No  more  shall  my  heart  take  "delight,  delight, 
No  more  shall  my  heart  take  delight, 
In  causing  the  stream 
Of  sorrow  to  gleam 

For  those  I  have  slain  in  the  fight,  the  fight, 
For  those  I  have  slam  in  the  fight. 


180 


THE  COTTAGE  OF  DAISY  DELL. 

MUSIC  BY  JAS.  N.  BECK,  ESQ. 
.  I. 

O,  COME  to  my  home  by  the  green  old  woods, 

Where  the  wild  flowers  blossom  and  twine, 
The  winds  whistle  free,  and  the  turtle-dove  broods 

In  the  top  of  the  murmuring  pine. 
O,  come  where  the  hearth-stone  is  waiting  for  thee, 

And  love  and  contentment  dwell  j 
No  place  is  so  bright,  since  thou  sharest  with  me 

The  cottage  of  Daisy  Dell. 

ii. 
O,  come  to  my  home  from  the  dark,  cold  world,  — 

No  longer  in  weariness  rove ; 
But  rest,  like  a  dove  with  her  pinions  furled 

Ever  safe  in  its  haven  of  love. 


THE   COTTAGE    OP  DAISY  DELL.  181 

O,  here  shall  the  home  of  the  heart  ever  be, 

And  love  and  contentment  dwell; 
No  place  is  so  dear,  since  thou  sharest  with  me 

The  cottage  of  Daisy  Dell. 
16 


182 


THE  MOTHER'S   DREAM. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

SOFT  slumber  closed  a  mother's  eyes,- 

Her  babe  was  on  her  breast, — 
When  visions  from  the  opening  skies 

Stole  on  her  quiet  rest. 
She  saw  an  angel  band  come  down, 

Like  clustering  stars  at  even : 
They  brought  her  angel  babe  a  crown, 

Such  as  they  wear  in  Heaven. 


ii. 

Anon  they  took  her  little  one 
Upon  their  pearly  wings, 

And  upward  flew,  toward  the  sun, 
While  heavenly  music  rings  : 


THE  MOTHER'S  DREAM.  183 

"  Rejoice !  rejoice !  the  sinless  child 
To  our  bright  ranks  is  given  ! " 
The  cherub  sweetly  on  her  smiled, 
Then  entered  into  heaven. 

in. 
With  speed,  upon  its  path  of  light, 

That  mother  darts  away, 
Till  onward  in  her  heavenly  flight 

She  reached  the  gates  of  day. 
And  then  she  heard  them  sing  within, 
"  This  child  to  us  is  given ; 
Nor  ask  it  back  to  earth  and  sin, 
But  leave  it  safe  in  heaven." 

IV. 

Then  slumber  fled  her  weeping  eyes, — 

The  babe  was  on  her  breast, 
As  fair  as  when,  through  opening  skies, 

She  saw  it  borne  to  rest. 
And  O,  she  trembled  with  delight, 

As  kiss  on  kiss  was  given, 
Resolved  to  guide,  from  that  blest  night, 

Her  angel  babe  to  heaven. 


184 


BE  ALWAYS   HAPPY. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 
I. 

AWAY  with  your  sadness ! 

Let  care  jog  along, 
And  innocent  gladness 

Still  measure  your  song. 
Why  burden  with  sorrow 

Our  few  fleeting  days, 
With  thoughts  of  to-morrow  ?  • 

Be  happy  always ! 

n. 

If  trials  o'ertake  you, 
Yield  not  to  despair; 

Till  courage  forsake  you, 
Each  pain  you  can  bear. 


BE   ALWAYS    HAPPY.  J85 

There 's  one  road  to  pleasure 

Which  ever  repays ; 
Wouldst  find  out  the  treasure  ?  — 

Be  happy  always ! 

in. 

Ne'er  think  the  Creator 

Intended  the  face 
Should  wear  in  each  feature 

A  sorrowful  trace. 
Then  mar  not  its  beauty ; 

'T  is  he  that  obeys, 
"Who  holds  as  a  duty,  — 

Be  happy  always ! 
16* 


186 


SAFE  AT  HOME. 

MUSIC  BY  "MAKIE  MXDWORT." 

I. 
I'VE  wandered  far,  I've  \vandered  lone, 

And  many  climes  have  seen, 
But  never  yet  a  land  have  known 

Like  my  own  native  green. 
And  now  my  roaming  days  are  o'er, 

And  crossed  the  ocean  foam, 
I  greet  with  joy  the  happy  shore 

Which  bids  me  welcome  home ! 

n. 
I  Ve  wandered  long,  I  Ve  wandered  free, 

Where  court  and  camp  beguiled, 
But  never  yet  was  place  to  me 

Like  that  I  left,  a  child. 


SAFE  AT  HOME.  187 

My  sighings  o'er,  my  perils  past, 

I  hail  my  native  dome. 
The  goal  is  won ;  and  I,  at  last, 

Am  safe  again  at  home ! 

m. 

I  've  wandered  here,  I  've  wandered  there, 

But  never  yet  could  find 
A  heart  with  whom  my  own  could  share 

The  love  I  left  behind. 
But  now  my  lonely  heart 's  at  rest, 

Nor  sighs  again  to  roam ; 
Here  friends  I  meet,  the  truest,  best, 

In  my  own  happy  home ! 


188 


THE  HAPPIEST  PLACE  IS  HOME. 


MUSIC  BY  N.  BAKKEB,  ESQ. 
I. 

THOUGH  others  may  seek  far  and  wide 

To  gain  but  a  moment  of  bliss, 
Disappointments  their  footsteps  abide, 

In  a  world  full  of  phantoms  as  this; 
But,  with  loved  ones  the  blessing  to  share, 

Ah,  who  would  be  longing  to  roam, 
"When  taught  by  the  joy  tasted  there 

That  the  happiest  of  places  is  home  ? 

n. 
The  world  may  seem  brighter  without, 

With  the  glitter  of  tinsel  and  art, 
And  its  friendships  appear  more  devout, 

With  the  semblance  of  truth  to  the  heart ; 


THE   HAPPIEST  PLACE   IS   HOME.  189 

But  so  sweet  are  the  pleasures  I  share, 
My  heart  feels  no  yearning  to  roam, 

Since  nothing  on  earth  can  compare 
With  the  happiest  of  places,  my  home ! 

m. 
If  sorrow  e'er  darkens  my  way, 

Till  the  heart  wear  a  burden  of  grief, 
And  the  friends  I  have  trusted  betray 

In  the  hour  when  most  needing  relief; 
From  the  anguish  which  tortures  the  mind, 

To  my  own  little  heaven  I  '11  come, 
In  the  smiles  of  my  loved  ones,  to  find 

That  the  happiest  of  places  is  home  ! 


190 


EACH  SIGH  THE  HEART  WILL  TREASURE. 


MUSIC   BY   C.    C.   HULL,   ESQ. 
I. 

JOTS  are  ever  swiftly  fleeting, 
Griefs  are  lasting  as  our  years, 

Scarce  is  felt  the  bliss  of  meeting, 
Ere  't  is  time  for  parting  tears : 

Yet  each  sigh  the  heart  will  treasure, 

Sweetest  source  of  lasting  pleasure. 

n. 
Ours  is  but  a  day  of  sorrow, 

Clouds  on  every  heart  have  dwelt, 
Hopes  depart  before  the  morrow, 

And  some  keener  grief  is  felt ; 
Yet,  from  out  the  darkness  streaming, 
Holy  light  is  ever  beaming. 


EACH    SIGH   THE    HEART    WILL    TREASURE.        191. 
III. 

Life  is  but  a  morning  vapor, 

Melting  with  the  dawning  ray, 
Or  an  evanescent  taper, 

By  its  own  light  burnt  away; 
Yet 't  is  thus  the  spirit  freeing, 
Radiant  with  immortal  being. 


192 


I  THOUGHT  OF  THEE  ONCE. 

i. 
I  THOUGHT  of  thee  once  as  a  star  brightly  beaming 

All  peerless  and  fadeless  above, 
Whose  light  o'er  my  spirit  was  radiantly  streaming, 
Awaking  the  thrillings  of  love, 
Its  earliest  thrillings  of  love. 

ii. 

I  sat  by  thee  once  when  the  love-light  was  playing 

From  eyes  beaming  fondly  on  me, 
And  felt  that  a  spell  my  warm  heart  was  betraying 

To  breathe  all  its  passion  to  thee, 
Its  passionate  longings  to  thee. 

m. 
I  vowed  to  thee  then,  and  that  word  was  a  token 

Of  love  that  can  never  decay ; 
Misfortune  may  sever,  the  heart  may  be  broken, 
But  never  from  thee  turn  away, 
No,  never  from  thee  turn  away. 


193 


ANGEL  WILLIE. 

INSCRIBED   TO  MRS.   J.  R.  OSGOOD,   OP   INDIANAPOLIS. 

L 
Go,  lay  sweet  Willie  in  the  ground, 

Where  now  the  withered  flowers  are  lying, 
And  faded  leaves  are  strewn  around, 

And  sadly  autumn  winds  are  sighing. 
But,  though  thy  heart  from  fountains  deep 

Pours  forth  the  grief  you  may  not  smother, 
Let  Faith  make  sweet  the  tears  you  weep, — 

He  lives  an  angel,  gentle  mother! 

n. 

Go,  make  his  grave  beneath  the  tree, 
Where  you  may  oft  resort  at  even, 

When  summer  flowers  adorn  the  lea, 
.  And  evening's  purple  light  the  heaven ; 
17 


194  ANGEL    WILLIE. 

But,  though  thy  heart  may  feel  opprest, 
And  vain  the  strife  its  grief  to  smother, 

Let  Faith  still  pillow  on  thy  breast 
Thy  angel  Willie,  weeping  mother ! 

m. 

Though  ne'er  again  his  little  feet 

Across  the  floor  will  trip  so  lightly, 
His  lips  ne'er  smile  that  smiled  so  sweet, 

Nor  his  blue  eyes  resparkle  brightly ; 
Yet,  oft  as  memory  drops  the  tear, 

As  years  shall  fail  thy  grief  to  smother, 
Look  up  by  faith ;  sweet  Willie  dear 

Is  still  thy  angel,  gentle  mother ! 


195 


CHILD'S  PRAYER. 

MUSIC   BT   "J.   H." 
I. 

ALAS  !  when  years  were  still  so  brief, 

I  scarce  could  lisp  a  name, 
My  tongue  was  taught  the  notes  of  grief, 

For  clouds  of  sorrow  came. 
And  now  I  seek  a  mother's  grave, 

At  every  eventide ; 
O !  could  I  have  the  boon  I  crave, 

I  'd  slumber  by  her  side. 

• 

n. 

I  leave  the  birds  that  sing  so  sweet, 
And  flowers  of  richest  bloom, 

And  all  the  pleasant  friends  I  meet, 
To  weep  beside  her  tomb. 


196  CHILD'S  PRAYER. 

The  earth  has  many  things  to  love, 
And  once  I  thought  them  fair, 

But,  since  my  mother  dwells  above, 
It 's  brighter,  far,  up  there. 

m. 

I  know  they  '11  dig  a  place  so  deep, 

Down  where  the  willows  wave, 
And  lay  me  sweetly  there  to  sleep, 

Close  by  my  mother's  grave. 
But  yonder,  with  the  spirits  blest, 

Her  radiant  form  I  view: 
O,  let  me  on  her  bosom  rest, 

And  be  an  angel  too ! 


197. 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  HOME  OF  MY  YOUTH. 

MUSIC  BT  "MABIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

FAREWELL  to  the  home  of  my  youth,  fare  thee  well ! 

Though  the  splendors  of  others  I  see, 
No  lure  shall  e'er  weaken  or  sever  the  spell 

That  binds  me  so  closely  to  thee. 
Still  fairest  thy  landscapes  shall  be  to  mine  eyes, 

And  thy  streams  purling  softly  and  clear ; 
The  stars  are  the  brightest  that  glow  in  thy  skies, 

Thy  hills  and  thy  valleys  most  dear. 
. 

n. 

Though  humble  the  lot  of  the  friends  dwelling  here, 

I  shall  never  find^)thers  as  true, 
Or  those  who  in  memory  will  hold  me  as  dear, 

When  distance  shall  hide  me  from  view. 

17* 


198        FAREWELL   TO   THE    HOME    OF   MY   YOUTH. 

The  dearest  that  hearth-stone  shall  be  to  my  heart, 
And  the  loved  who  have  cherished  me  there ; 

No  others  such  pleasure  can  ever  impart, 
Or  lighten  my  bosom  of  care. 

in.      • 
Farewell,  O  farewell  to  the  home  of  my  youth ! 

Thou  art  dearer  than  ever  to  me ; 
And,  though  I  may  wander,  my  heart  in  its  truth 

Will  turn  in  devotion  to  thee. 
And  fairest  thy  landscape  shall  be  to  mine  eyes, 

And  thy  streams  purling  softly  and  clear ; 
The  stars  are  the  brightest  that  glow  in' thy  skies, 

Thy  hills  and  thy  valleys  most  dear ! 


199 


WELCOME,   SWEET  MAY. 


MUSIC    BY  W.  J.   HEFFERMAN,  ESQ. 
I. 

SHE  comes  like  a  dream,  or  a  bow  on  the  shower, 
With  steps  falling  lightly  as  dew  on  the  flower, 
While  a  voice  gushes  forth  from  a  thousand  glad  rills, 
As  her  spirit-like  beauty  o'ershadows  the  hills ; 
The  song  of  the  birds, 
The  hum  of  the  bee, 
The  low  of  the  herds, 
Are  welcomes  for  thee, 

Sweet  May, 
Kind  welcomes  for  thee. 

ii. 

Sweet  anthems  of  gladness  float  up  on  the  air, 
Like  Hope's  silver  chimes  to  the  ear  of  despair, 
Each  heart  drops  its  burden  and  dries  up  its  tear, 
To  greet  with  affection  the  gem  of  the  year ; 


200  WELCOME,   SWEET   MAY. 

The  bright  woodland  rings, 

The  streams  murmur  free, 
And  every  note  brings 

A  welcome  for  thee, 

Sweet  May, 
Love's  welcome  for  thee. 

in. 

With  hearts  full  of  gladness  to  groves  now  repair 
The  merry  young  maidens,  with  flower-wreathed  hair, 
While  Heaven  looks  down  with  a  smile  on  the  scene, 
As  their  songs  fill  the  air  and  their  steps  print  the  green ; 
As  joyous  they  sing, 

And  trip  o'er  the  lea,  . 
The  welkin  doth  ring, 
With  welcomes  for  thee, 

Sweet  May, 
Kind  welcomes  for  thee. 

IV. 

She  comes,  like  an  angel  of  light  from  above, 
Wiih  beauty,  and  fragrance,  and  whispers  of  love, 
And  Nature,  entranced  with  the  heaven-born  lay, 
Falls  asleep  in  bright  dreams  on  the  bosom  of  May  • 


WELCOME,   SWEET   MAT.  201 

The  soft  blushing  flower. 

The  bud  on  the  tree, 
The  dew  and  the  shower, 

Breathe  welcomes  for  thee, 

Sweet  May, 
Love's  welcomes  for  thee. 


202 


THOSE  GOOD  OLD  DAYS. 

MUSIC  BT  KXOF.  IRVING. 
I. 

OtJB  fathers  tilled  the  virgin  soil, 
Content  with  honest  thrift  and  toil, 
And  mid  improvement  ever  praise 

Those  good  old  days, 
Those  good  old  days,  those  happy  days 
Of  honest  thrift  and  frugal  ways, 

Those  good*old  days. 

n. 

The  daughters  knit,  the  brothers  ploughed, 
They  wore  homespun,  and  ne'er  grew  proud, 
And  were  so  happy  that  they  praise 

Those  good  old  days, 
Those  good  old  days,  those  happy  days 
Of  honest  thrift  and  frugal  ways, 

Those  good  old  days. 


THOSE  GOOD  OLD  DAYS.  203 

III. 

They  went  to  church  and  market-place, 
Quite  satisfied  with  Dobbin's  pace, 
And  still  prefer  to  swift  railways 

Those  good  old  days,  - 
Those  good  old  days,  those  happy  days 
Of  honest  thrift  and  frugal  ways, 

Those  good  old  days. 

IV. 

They  strove  to  help  a  brother  through, 
Not  shave  him  first,  then  skin  him  too ; 
And  yet  they  richer  grew  always 

In  those  good  old  days, 
Those  good  old  days,  those  happy  days 
Of  honest  thrift  and  frugal  ways, 

Those  good  old  days. 


204 


ONE  LITTLE  WORD. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

ONE  little  word  I've  tried  to.speak, 

But  never  could  for  choking, 
Although  I  've  practised  half  the  week ; 

O  dear,  't  is  so  provoking ! 
I  know  that  she  must  understand 

The  word  I  long  to  utter, 
For  she  has  felt  my  trembling  hand, 

And  seen  my  bosom  flutter. 


ii. 
I've  often  vowed  to  spoil  their  fun, — 

They  so  delight  in  teasing,  — 
By  never  wedding  any  one, 

However  sweet  and  pleasing. 


ONE    LITTLE    WORD.  205 

They  will  not  understand,  although 

You  hint  so  very  near  it ; 
And,  when  you  plainly  tell  them  so, 

They  wish  again  to  hear  it. 

in. 

I  am  resolved  to  try  my  luck, 

And  plainly  pop  the  question, 
For,  sure,  the  word  so  long  has  stuck 

It  ruins  my  digestion. 
And,  if  at  first  a  little  shy, 

I  'm  sure,  with  earnest  pressing, 
She  '11  comprehend  me,  by  and  by, 

And  ask  the  parson's  blessing. 
18 


206 


AWAKE,  GENTLE  LADY. 

MUSIC  BY   "MARIE  MADWOBT." 
I. 

AWAKE,  gentle  lady,  bid  slumber  depart, 

And  list  to  the  secret  that  lies  on  my  heart : 

While  flowers  drink  the  dewdrops  and  spangle  the  lea, 

I  come  by  the  moonlight  to  breathe  it  to  thee. 

Then  wake,  gentle  lady,  bid  slumber  depart; 

I'll  tell  you  the  secret  that  lies  on  my  heart. 

• 

n. 

Awake,  gentle  lady,  from  visions  of  light, 
And  list,  —  I  Ve  a  secret  to  tell  you  to-night : 
While  streams  murmur  softly,  and  stars  shine  above, 
I  come  by  the  moonlight  to  whisper  my  love. 
Then  wake,  gentle  lady,  let  dreams  take  their  flight; 
I'll  tell  you  a  secret  worth  hearing  to-night 


AWAKE,   GENTLE   LADY.  207 

III. 

Awake,  gentle  lady,  and  give  me  a  sign, 
To  tell  if  my  secret  you  well  can  divine : 
While  night  sleepeth  calmly  in  beauty,  as  now, 
I  come  by  the  moonlight  to  plight  thee  thy  vow. 
Then  wake,  gentle  lady,  and  give  me  a  sign, 
If  thou  hast  a  secret  to  whisper,  like  mine. 


208 


'TIS  VAIN  TO  HOPE. 

MUSIC    BY  W.   H.   CUEEIE,  ESQ. 
I. 

O,  COULD ST  thou  know  the  wealth  of  love 

My  heart  has  treasured  up  for  thee, 
Thou  wouldst  not  ask  for  tune  to  prove 

How  deep  and  boundless  't  is,  and  free. 
Then  let  some  word  my  spirit  cheer, 

Nor  doom  me  to  a  hopeless  lot, 
In  those  sad  words  my  fate  to  hear,  — 

'Tis  vain  to  hope;  I  love  you  not. 

in. 

My  love  has  grown  through  weary  years, 
And  fed  its  strength  on  each  delay ; 

O,  then,  why  longer  cherish  fears 
That  it  may  change  or  pass  away  ? 


'TIS    VAIN   TO    HOPE.  209 

Then  make  me  blest,  nor  by  a  word, 

Which,  spoken  once,  is  ne'er  forgot 
By  one  whose  soul  has  ever  heard,  — 

'T is  vain  to  hope;  I  love  you  not. 

18* 


210 


THE  FIRST  EOSE  OF   SPRING-TIME. 

MUSIC  BY  "MABIE  MADWOET." 

T. 

'T  is  the  first  rose  of  spring-time, 

Reblooming  again, 
Where  the  last  rose  of  autumn 

Was  strown  on  the  plain. 
Though  no  fair  one  around  her 

Awakes  from  repose, 
She  unfolds  all  her  petals, 

And  blushes,  —  a  rose. 

ii. 

Soon  each  bud  of  the  garden 

As  brightly  will  bloom, 
In  beauty  as  perfect, 

As  rich  in  perfume ; 


THE   FIKST   ROSE    OF   SPRING-TIME.  211 

When  forsaken  and  withered 

This  sweet  rose  will  lie, 
The  first  one  to  blossom, 

And  soonest  to  die. 

in. 
Since  a  doom  thus  awaits  thee, 

If  left  here  to  pine, 
I  '11  pluck  thee,  fair  floweret, 

Ere  the  sad  fate  is  thine  ; 
And  here  on  my  bosom 

Will  give  thee  repose, 
And  cherish,  when  faded, 

The  first  blooming  rose. 


212 


HAPPY  DREAMS  OF  HOME. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

WHENE'ER  I  sleep,  and  dream  of  home, 
O,  then  my  heart  is  pining 

Its  happy  vales  again  to  roam, 
And  view  its  waters  shining: 
I  sleep  and  dream  of  home ! 


I  wander  through  each  pleasant  grove, 
And  hear  the  wild  birds  singing, 

Where  oft  the  witching  smiles  of  love 
A  spell  was  round  me  flinging : 
O,  bliss  to  dream  of  home ! 


HAPPY   DREAMS    OF   HOME.  21o 

III. 

I  seek  tfre  Well-known  trysting  tree, 

That  dear  old  place  of  meeting, 
Where  oft  I  sat,  till  o'er  the  lea 

The  evening  shades  were  fleeting : 

O,  happy  dreams  of  home ! 

IV. 

Thus,  when  I  sleep,  and  dream  of  home, 

Its  light  again  I  borrow ; 
And,  though  I  wake,  afar  to  roam, 

It  lightens  half  my  sorrow 

To  sleep  and  dream  of  home ! 


214 


RETUEN   OF   THE  ROBIN. 

MUSIC  BY   "  MARIE   MADWORT." 
I. 

THOU  hast  been  to  a  sunny  clime, 

Far,  far  away, 
Where  comes  ne'er  bleak  winter-tune, 

Frosting  the  spray. 
O'er  fields  ever  green  and  fair, 

There  thou  couldst  roam; 
And  yet  thou  wert  pining  there, 

Pining  for  home. 

ii. 

Though  bright  in  that  spicy  land 
Glow  rarest  flowers, 

And  come  with  the  breezes  bland 
Sweet-scented  showers, 


RETURN    OF   THE   ROBIN.  215 

Thy  heart  sought  the  azure  hills 

Skirting  thy  home, 
Where  leap  the  wild  mountain  rills, 

Sparkling  with  foam. 

m. 
A  glad  welcome  home  again ! 

Sweet  be  thy  song, 
As  free  o'er  thy  native  plain 

Gliding  along. 
0,  come  build  thy  mossy  nest 

Here  on  the  spray, 
And,  safe  in  thy  downy  rest, 

Carol  away ! 


216 


EVENING  ECHOES. 

MUSIC  BY  C.   C.   HULL,  ESQ. 
I. 

As  evening's  purple  shadows  darken 

On  the  lea, 
The  silvery  echoes  mingle  —  harken ! 

Full  and  free. 
The  mountains  sing,  and  vales  reclining 

In  repose, 
And  brooklets  murmur,  ever  shining 

To  their  close. 
Echoes,  evening  echoes, 
Echoes,  sweet  evening  echoes. 

n. 
The  vesper  horn  is  softly  blending, 

Far  away, 
Its  tones  of  melting  sweetness  ending 

"With  the  day. 


EVENING    ECHOES.  217 

Around,  above,  like  angel  voices 

On  the  ear, 

The  harmony  of  eve  rejoices, 
Sweetly  clear. 
Echoes,  evening  echoes, 
Echoes,  sweet  evening  echoes. 
19      • 


218 


KATY'S   RESPONSE  TO   THE   KATYDID. 


FOR   MUSIC. 

• 
I. 

You  saucy  insect !  well  you  know, 

'T  is  only  out  of  spite, 
Because  I  would  not  praise  the  song 

You  sung  the  other  night. 
I  wonder  not,  you  tattle  so, 

You  keep  securely  hid,  — 
I  meet  a  man  alone  at  night ! 

You  know  I  never  did. 

ii. 
When  sitting  in  my  moonlit  bower, 

I  've  heard  you  chirrup  long, 
But  never  could  appreciate 

The  music  of  your  song. 


KATY'S  RESPONSE  TO  THE  KATYDID.          219 

Now,  out  of  spite,  where'er  you  go, 

Around  and  over  head, 
I  hear  you  cry,  with  all  your  might, 

And  teU  what  «  Katy  did." 

in. 
I  wandered  forth  to  take  the  air, 

The  moonlight  was  so  sweet, 
And  just  beside  the  rosy  bower 

We  only  chanced  to  meet. 
My  shawl  he  offered  to  adjust, 

Which  from  my  shoulder  slid,  — 
He  put  his  arm  around  my  waist  ! 

Indeed,  he  never  did. 


'T  is  true,  he  talked  of  nectared  flowers 

The  bee  so  fondly  sips, 
And  then,  to  show  the  pleasant  taste, 

He  barely  pressed  my  lips. 
And  just  because  I  did  not  frown, 

I  thus  am  rudely  chid,  — 
As  though  I  let  him  kiss  me  there  ! 

I  never,  never  did. 


220          KATY'S  RESPONSE  TO  THE  KATYDID. 

v. 

Did  you  not  promise  solemnly, 

Whatever  you  might  hear, 
You  'd  keep  my  tender  secret  safe 

From  every  mortal  ear  ? 
But  now  you  fly  all  o'er  the  town, 

And,'  in  some  treetop  hid, 
You  call  to  every  passer-by 

To  hear  what  "  Katy  did." 

VI. 

But  do  not  think  I  '11  cease  to  roam 

At  midnight's  silent  hour, 
Nor  frown,  if  one  I  chance  to  meet 

Close  by  the  rosy  bower. 
And  you  may  listen  to  my  words, 

If  there  securely  hid,  — 
None  will  believe  you,  though  you  tell 

Exactly  what  I  did. 


221 


JACOB   GETS   THE  MITTEN. 

* 
MUSIC   BY   W.    WALLACE.' 

I. 

I  THANK  you,  Mister  Jacob,  but  I  'm  not  inclined  to  go, 
Your  wagon  is  so  clumsy,  and  your  team  so  very  slow ; 
And,  though  't  would  make  you  happy  were  I  seated  by 

your  side, 

To  go  in  such  a  "turn-out"  would  be  shocking  to  my 
pride. 

To  ride  in  a  wagon. 
An  old  rusty  wagon, 
A  squeaking  lumber-wagon, 

'T  would  be  shocking  to  my  pride ; 
Beside,  a  jolting  wagon 
I  never  could  abide. 

n. 

Perhaps  you  may  consider  that  I  'm  very  hard  to  please, 
But  I  can  ne'er  be  happy  in  a  dairy,  making  cheese ; 
19* 


222  JACOB    GETS   THE    MITTEN. 

So  keep  your  little  farm-house,  and  just  go  and  mind 

your  plough, — 

I  'm  sure  I  can  do  better  than  consent  to  milk  your  cow ; 
And  ride  in  a  wagon, 
An  old  rusty  wagon, 
A  squeaking  lumber-wagon, 

"With  horses  from  the  plough. 
To  think  of  such  a  wagon, 
It  mortifies  me  now ! 

m. 
Old  Mike  was  not  so  stingy,  when  he  asked  me  for  his 

bride, 

As  to  bring  a  clumsy  wagon  and  invite  me  out  to  ride ; 
And,  though  he 's  not  so  handsome  as  I  know  you  deem 

yourself, 

I  think  him  quite  acceptable,  especially  —  "  his  pelf ! " 
I  '11  ride  in  a  carriage, 
A  fine  gilded  carriage, 
An  easy-cushioned  carriage, 
And  own  it  all  myself ;  — 
I  '11  not  decline  a  marriage 

With  old  Mike  and  —  "  all  his  pelf ! " 


223 


THE   LITTLE   RED   SHOES. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

THE  cradle  is  empty, 

The  toys  are  laid  by, 
As  treasures  of  memory, 

Too  precious  to  die  ; 
But  when  a  memento 

From  all  I  would  choose, 
Most  dearly  I  cherish 

These  little  red  shoes. 

ii. 

0,  these  were  her  treasures, 
Her  joy  and  her  pride, — 

The  last  that  she  played  with 
On  earth,  ere  she  died. 


224  THE   LITTLE    RED    SHOES. 

And  now,  sad  and  lonely, 
My  spirit  bedews 

With  tears  of  affection 
These  little  red  shoes. 

HI. 

No  music  was  sweeter 

Than  when,  at  my  call, 
Her  little  feet  pattered 

In  soft  muffled  fall. 
And  oft,  when  in  sadness 

I  pensively  muse, 
I  hear  the  soft  echo 

Of  these  little  shoes. 

IV. 

O,  chide  not  a  mother, 

For  holding  most  dear 
What  must  a  mere  trifle 

To  others  appear ; 
For  she  was  my  darling, 

And  can  I  refuse 
To  cherish  thus  dearly 

These  little  red  shoes  ? 


225 


BLESSED  ARE  THEY  THAT  MOUEN. 

MUSIC  BT   "MARIE  MADWOBT." 
* 

THERE  are  moments  that  come,  in  their  sombre  array, 

Like  thoughts  of  the  shroud  and  the  tomb, 
When  the  light  from  the  eye  and  the  cheek  fades  away, 

And  sets  in  the  night  of  their  gloom. 
Less  joyous,  't  is  true,  for  a  time  may  appear 

These  hours  of  affliction  and  pain, 
Than  the  "daughters  of  music,"  whose  songs  charm  the  ear 

Like  the  Syren's  bewildering  strain; 
But  O,  to  the  mourning  these  shadows  of  night 

Bring  joys  that  forbid  them  to  pine, 
For  they  see  through  the  darkness  the  dawn  of  that  light 

Which  glows  with  a  radiance  divine ! 

ii. 

.  ^ 
There 's  a  beam  still  remaining  when  darkness  is  near, 

More  beauteous  than  that  of  the  noon,  — 
'T  is  night  ere  the  stars  in  their  brightness  appear, 
And  the  billow  embraces  the  moon. 


226  BLESSED   ARE   THEY  THAT  MOURN. 

A  melody  lingers  awhile  in  the  sky, 

When  the  shock  of  the  thunder  is  o'er, 
And  the  wave  leaves  a  murmur  of  music  on  high, 

As  it  breaks  and  recedes  from  the  shore. 
And  thus  every  sorrow,  howe'er  it  may  pain, 

Brings  a  joy  that  forbids  us  to  pine ; 
And  the  harp  struck  to  sadness  awakens  a  strain 

That  thrills  to  a  rapture  divine ! 


227 


LITTLE  KOSY.  CHEEKS. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

LITTLE  fairy  elfs  are  these, 

"With  curly  hair  and  jetty, 
Dimpled  chins,  and  lips  that  smile 

So  witchingly  and  pretty. 
Full  of  mischief,  romping  free, 

Yet  innocent  in  pleasure  ; 
Little,  ruddy,  rosy  cheeks, 

My  dearest  earthly  treasure ! 

ii. 

Little  buds  of  care  are  these, 
Oft  blighted  ere  the  blooming ; 

Nurslings  of  our  prayers  and  tears, 
Still  angels  in  the  looming. 


228  LITTLE   ROSY   CHEEKS. 

Teasing  ever,  teasing  all, 

Yet  who  would  from  them  sever  ? 

Little,  ruddy,  rosy  cheeks, 
My  dearest  treasures  ever  ! 


. 

Angels  of  our  homes  are  these, 

Ere  yet  their  wings  are  given, 
Blooming  with  the  light  and  love 

Of  their  own  native  heaven. 
Objects  of  our  anxious  thoughts, 

The  source  of  pain  or  pleasure  ; 
Little,  ruddy,  rosy  cheeks, 

My  dearest  earthly  treasure  ! 


229 


THE  FAMILY  ALTAK. 

MUSIC  BY  "MARIE  MADWORT." 

I. 

IT  is  a  place  of  sure  relief, 

Where  mourners'  tears  are  dried, 
Where  sweetness  mingles  in  our  grief, 

And  peace  and  joy  abide. 
We  gather  there  with  humble  hearts, 

And  bless,  from  day  to  day, 
The  grace  and  love  that  thus  imparts 

An  altar  where  to  pray. 

n. 

A  father's  reverend  form  is  there, 

A  mother's  quiet  grace, 
And  brothers,  sisters,  fondly  share 

The  blessings  of  the  place. 

20 


230  THE   FAMILY  ALTAB. 

At  morning's  rise,  at  evening's  close, 
We  bow  with  one  accord, 

And  ever  richer  mercy  flows 
In  answers  from  the  Lord. 

in. 

Support  it  gives  to  weary  years, 

And  strengthens  man  for  toil ; 
'T  is  youth's  protection,  when  appears 

The  tempter's  fatal  coil. 
Whene'er  we  gather  round  the  hearth, 

Our  daily  thanks  to  pay, 
'T  is  still  the  dearest  spot  of  earth, 

The  altar  where  we  pray ! 


231 


THE  BRIDE'S   SACRIFICE. 

i. 
I  LOVE  the  blissful  month  of  May, 

When  opening  buds  reveal  the  flowers ; 
And  all  around,  melodiously, 

The  wild  birds  sing  in  vernal  bowers. 
For  O,  it  brings  the  cherished  hour 

When  thou  didst  breathe  thy  vows  to  me, 
And  fondly  lean  upon  that  breast 

Which  yields  up  all  its  wealth  to  thee. 

ii. 
Then,  when  a  tear-drop  dewed  thy  cheek, 

And  glistened,  pearl-like,  in  thine  eye, 
And  from  thy  pale  and  trembling  lips 
.    Fell  one  regret  and  parting  sigh, 
I  did  not  chide  that  thou  didst  weep, 

And  to  the  past  give  one  more  tear ; 
Ah,  well  I  knew  the  sacrifice 

To  sunder  ties  to  thee  so  dear! 


232  THE  BRIDE'S  SACRIFICE. 

in. 
But  when  thy  hand  was  placed  in  mine, 

And  fervently  thy  vows  were  given, 
O,  then  that  sigh  from  off  thy  lips 

Was,  with  the  tear-drop,  borne  to  heaven. 
There  He,  who  ever  deigns  to  bless, 

When  guileless  love  implores  his  aid, 
Received  the  incense  of  thy  vows, 

And  bade  thy  trembling  heart  be  stayed. 

IV. 

Should  we  live  on  through  many  years, 

And  all  around  look  dark  and  drear, 
In  thee  I  know  I  still  shall  find 

A  changeless  love,  a  soul  sincere. 
And  this,  in  darkest  scenes  of  life. 

Shall  be  to  me  a  solace  nigh. 
To  soothe  the  grief  which  rends  the  heart, 

And  wipe  the  tear-drops  from  the  eye 


233 


0,  THOU  DARK  RESERVOIR. 

i. 

O,  THOU  dark  reservoir !  to  thee 
Poet  and  sage  have  bowed  the  knee, 
And,  with  thy  ebon-flood,  have  sought 
To  bind  the  airy  wings  of  thought. 
And  when,  obedient  to  his  will, 
Thou  trinklest  from  the  poet's  quill, 
Mysteriously  thy  drops  of  night 
Gleam  with  the  purest  rays  of  light. 

II.  * 

With  thee  he  paints  the  gorgeous  ray 
Which  melts  along  the  verge  of  day ; 
Or,  mellowed  down  to  softer  light, 
The  moon  and  twinkling  waves  of  night. 
Another  touch,  and  every  star, 
Like  glimpse  of  angels,  distant  far, 
From  out  thy  midnight  burst  to  shine : 
Mysterious  Ink,  what  power  is  thine ! 
20* 


23-i  O,   THOU   DARK    RESERVOIR. 

III. 

The  fairest  flowers  beneath  thy  trace 
Glow  on  the  eye  with  richer  grace, 
And  o'er  the  landscape's  brightest  scene 
Thy  spirit  sheds  a  fresher  green. 
The  varied  hues  of  Autumn's  hour 
Blush  deeper  tints  beneath  thy  power, 
And  "Winter's  dazzling  plains  of  snow 
Receive  new  lustre  from  thy  flow. 

IV. 

The  Poet,  doomed  to  beg  for  bread 
Where'er  his  wandering  footsteps  led, 
Yet  all  the  while  he  drew  from  thee 
The  wealth  of  immortality ! 
Earth's  proudest  kings  have  passed  away, 
Their  rock-he  w%  tombs  have  met  decay; 
But  brighter  on  the  rolls  of  fame 
Still  shines  that  "  beggar  Poet's  "  name ! 

v. 

The  Bard,  with  eyes  of  rayless  sight, 
From  out  thy  darkness  drew  the  light ; 
And,  while  the  earth  was  all  unseen, 
He  pierced  the  skies  with  vision  keen. 


O,   THOU   DARK   RESERVOIR.  235 

And  caught  the  strains  which  angels  sing ! 
And  evermore  his  praise  shall  ring ; 
While  to  the  world's  admiring  eyes 
Shall  glow,  "  Kegained,"  "  Lost  Paradise ! " 

VI. 

Let  others  dig  for  golden  ore, 

Or  'neath  the  waves  for  pearls  explore ; 

Aspire  to  fame  and  high  renown, 

And  wade  through  blood  to  grasp  a  crown  ; 

But,  while  I  have  the  power  to  fill 

From  thy  dark  fount  my  "gray  goose  quill," 

I  '11  seek  my  honor,  wealth,  in  thee, 

And  live  content  with  destiny ! 


LITTLE   KATY'S   CRY. 

i. 
IN  the  streets  of  New  York  city 

Poor  Katy  sat  alone, 
Singing  o'er  her  plaintive  ditty 

With  soft  and  pensive  tone. 
Ever  were  her  teardrops  falling, 

As,  hungry  and  forlorn, 
She  to  thoughtless  crowds  was  calling, 
"  O,  here 's  your  nice  hot  corn ! " 

ii. 
When  the  night  was  dark  and  dreary, 

The  lonely  passer-by 
Heard  poor  Katy,  cold  and  weary, 

• 

Repeat  her  daily  cry. 
There  she  sat,  with  none  to  pity, 

At  night  and  dewy  morn, 
Conning  o'er  her  cheerless  ditty,  — 
"  0,  here 's  your  nice  hot  corn  ! " 


LITTLE  KATY'S  CRY. 

in. 
Still  the  crowd  along  is  hieing, 

As  thoughtless  as  before, 
But  they  hear  not  Katy's  sighing, 

She  cries  "  hot  corn  "  no  more. 
But,  where  angel-throngs  are  glowing, 

A  harp  to  her  is  given, 
And  she  sings,  no  sorrow  knowing, 

Close  by  the  gates  of  heaven ! 


238 


THE   STRAWBERRY   GIRL. 


WHEN  famine  was  wasting  the  loved  ones  at  home, 

Forsaken  by  friendships  that  falsely  had  smiled, 
An  angel  passed  by  every  proud-gilded  dome, 

And  dwelt  with  the  lowly,  —  a  beautiful  child. 
Intent  on  her  mission  of  mercy  and  love, 

She  grieved  not  when  lips  of  the  haughty  would  curl; 
For  spirit  more  pure  was  ne'er  sent  from  above 

Than  sweet  little  Julia,  the  strawberry  girl'. 

H. 
flKth  baskets  of  berries  all  blushing  and  red, 

With  violets  and  rosebuds  still  wet  with  the  dew, 
She  bounds  on  her  errand  with  fairy-like  tread ; 

Now  carolling  free,  and  now  shrinking  from  view. 
The  rose  tint  returns  to  the  pale,  wasted  cheek, 

Hope  brightens  the  eye  'neath  the  lash's  dark  curl, 
While  love  yields  its  strength  to  the  heart  that  was  weak, 

And  guides  all  the  steps  of  the  strawberry  girl. 


THE    STRAWBERRY    GIRL.  239 

III. 

lie  tempter  in  vain  spread  his  snare  for  her  feet, 

The  angel  of  purity  dwells  in  her  heart ; 
And  e'er  to  the  erring  her  chidings  were  sweet ; 

The  poor  blest  her  oft,  as  she  rose  to  depart. 
So  gentle  and  winning,  so  sweet  was  her  cry, 

The  frown  left  the  brow  of  the  cold-hearted  churl ; 
And  many  her  rosebuds  and  berries  would  buy, 

To  win  but  a  smile  from  the  strawberry  girl. 

IV. 

A  bridal  is  grouping  the  gay-lighted  hall, 

And  every  heart  bounds  in  the  happiest  mood ; 
And  blest  is  that  bridegroom,  the  envy  of  all, 

For  bride  that  was  fairer  was  never  yet  wooed. 
But  who,  in  that  brightest  array  of  the  fair, 

All  glowing  with  jewels  and  richest  of  pearl, 
In  beauty  and  form  was  the  peerless  one  there  ? 

'T  was  sweet  little  Julia,  the  strawberry  girl. 


240 


WE'LL  KEEP  THE  BIBLE  FEEE. 

WKITTEN   FOR  A  FOURTH  OF  JULY  SABBATH-SCHOOL  FESTIVAL. 

I. 

ONCE  more,  with  hallowed  feeling, 

"We  join  the  blest  employ, 
Our  nation's  praises  pealing 

In  songs  of  festive  joy. 
And  back  the  loud  hosanna 

Shall  roll  from  sea  to  sea, 
Till  mountain  and  savanna 

Re-echo,  —  "WE  ARE  FREE!" 

n. 
We  love  the  BOOK  which  lighted 

The  glow  of  patriot  fires, 
When  freedom  was  benighted, 

In  the  bosoms  of  our  sires. 


WE'LL  KEEP  THE  BIBLE  FBEE.  241 

They  shed  their  blood  to  save  us, 

And  gained  our  liberty ; 
But  the  greatest  boon  they  gave  us, 

They  made  the  BiUefree! 

ni. 

Where'er  its  light  is  beaming 

The  path  that  man  may  roam, 
There  Truth  is  ever  gleaming, 

And  Freedom  finds  a  home  ; 
But  where  it  is  denied  him, 

Oppression  bends  the  knee ; 
Without  its  light  to  guide  him, 

Man  never  can  be  free ! 

IV. 

Our  land  is  Virtue's  dwelling, 

Here  Science  builds  her  shrine, 
And  happy  hearts  are  swelling 

With  joys  almost  divine. 
And  we,  in  emulation, 

Here  pledge  ourselves  to  be 
The  guardians  of  our  nation,  — 

We  'U  keep  the  Bible  free  ! 

21 


242  TTO'LL  KEEP  THE  BIBLE  FREE. 

v. 

Then  come,  with  hallowed  feeling, 

Join  in  the  blest  employ, — 
Our  nation's  praises  pealing, 

In  songs  of  festive  joy, 
Till  back  the  loud  hosanna 

Shall  swell  from  sea  to  sea, 
From  mountain  and  savanna,-— 

We'll  keep  the  Bible  free/ 


243 


DEDICATION  HYMN. 

i. 

THE  Church,  to  wayworn  pilgrims  here, 
When  sin-beset  and  tempest-driven, 

A  Bethel  stands,  with  heavenly  cheer,  — 
The  house  of  God  and  gate  of  heaven. 

n. 
It  is  the  bulwark  of  our  land, 

When  strongest  hands  and  hearts  shall  fail ; 
While  Zion's  towers  unmoved  shall  stand, 

No  arm  can  smite  nor  foe  prevail. 

in. 

Within  its  courts  the  heart  and  mind, 

By  nature  dull  and  sin  impure, 
From  all  their  dross  and  guilt  refined, 

That  wisdom  gain  which  must  endure. 


244  DEDICATION  HYMN. 

IV. 

'T  is  here  the  heart  a  centre  finds 
For  friendships  pure  as  those  above ; 

A  holy  peace,  that  ne'er  declines ; 
A  union,  strong  as  endless  love. 

v. 

With  gratitude  we  bless  the  Lord, 
For  all  the  wonders  grace  displays, 

And  here  erect,  with  one  accord, 
An  Ebenezer  to  his  praise. 

VI. 

'T  is  here  the  mourner  finds  a  balm, 
A  refuge  safe  from  every  fear, 

And  feels  within  an  endless  calm, 
Hope  sanctifying  every  tear. 

vn. 

When  snares  beset  the  path  of  youth, 
Its  walls  become  a  sure  defence ; 

The  heart  well  armed  with  holy  truth, 
The  strongest  foe  is  driven  thence. 


DEDICATION  HYMN.  246 

vm. 
O  God,  thy  house  shall  ever  be 

A  refuge  for  the  tempest-driven ; 
And  those  who  seek  thy  courts  shall  see 

The  opening  pearly  gates  of  heaven ! 

21* 


246 


DEDICATION  HYMN. 

i. 

WHEN  Jesus,  moved  with  pity, 

On  mercy's  errand  came, 
He  sought  the  teeming  city, 

His  gospel  to  proclaim. 
And  when,  his  offer  spurning 

With  cold  and  stubborn  will, 
O'er  erring  thousands  yearning, 

He  loved  the  city  still. 

n. 

And  when,  his  heralds  sending 

His  precious  word  to  teach, 
Where  crowd  with  crowd  was  blending, 

He  bade  them  first  go  preach. 
And  if  the  word  unheeding, 

That  city  doomed  should  be, 
Yet  they,  to  others  speeding, 

Proclaimed  salvation  free. 


DEDICATION   HYMN.  247 

III. 

Where  funeral  bells  are  pealing, 

Unceasing,  day  by  day, 
And  death  is  ever  stealing 

The  unprepared  away ; 
Ere  all  the  thousands  perish, 

Let  Zion's  walls  arise, 
Where  truth  may  win,  and  cherish, 

Q 

And  lead  them  to  the  skies. 

IV. 

Where  sin  is  ever  boldest 

To  snare  the  youthful  heart, 
And  love  and  truth  grow  coldest, 

And  virtues  soon  depart, 
There  build  Jehovah's  altar ; 

And  may  its  courts  be  trod 
By  thousands,  when  they  falter, 

And  win  them  back  to  God. 

v. 

Where  restless  man  for  treasures 

Plies  each  seductive  art, 
Intent  on  empty  pleasures 

Which  but  pollute  the  heart, 


248  DEDICATION   HYMN. 

There  let  the  joys  be  tasted 
Which  Zion's  courts  insure, 

By  time  nor  death  e'er  wasted, 
Eternal,  full  and  pure ! 

VI. 

Great  God,  thy  name  adoring, 

We  consecrate  to-day 
This  house  to  thee,  imploring 

Thy  spirit's  cheering  ray. 
And  when  thy  truth  proclaiming, 

Be  thou  forever  near, 
The  city's  crowds  reclaiming, 

To  swell  thy  praises  here. 


249 


I. 

DEAR  Mary,  I  have  wandered 

For  many  weary  years, 
And  every  step  have  pondered, 

In  sadness  and  in  tears. 
This  only  thought  was  cheering, 

And  kept  my  spirit  free ; 
Each  passing  hour  was  nearing 

The  bliss  of  meeting  thee ! 
And  now,  the  hour  arriven, 

Back  to  thy  arms  I  come, 
To  find  on  earth  a  heaven, 

In  thy  sweet  welcome  home. 


250  I   KNEW   YOU   WOULD    MISS   ME. 

n. 
I  knew  that  you  would  miss  me, 

When  wandering  from  thy  sight ; 
The  children,  who  would  kiss  me 

Ere  they  would  say,  "  Good  night ! " 
This  only  thought,  elating, 

Has  eased  my  years  of  pain ; 
Each  hour  of  patient  waiting 

But  neared  those  joys  again. 
And  now  the  bliss  is  given, 

Back  to  thy  arms  I  come ; 
And  O,  't  is  surely  heaven,  — 

This  happy  welcome  home ! 


in. 

I  saw  the  light  was  burning, 

When  turning  up  the  lane, 
And  knew  that  you  were  yearnirj 

To  welcome  me  again. 
One  thought  was  all  my  being, 

The  blissful  hour  was  near : 
To  Mary's  arms  I  'm  fleeing,  ; — 

Again,  again  1  'm  here ! 


I  KNEW  YOU   WOULD   MISS   ME.  251 

The  wanderer,  tempest-driven, 

Returns,  no  more  to  roam, 
To  rest  in  this  sweet  heaven, 

My  own  dear  Mary's  home ! 


252 


FIRESIDE  JEWELS. 

MUSIC  BY  "MABIE  MADWOET." 

I. 

DEAREST  of  the  joys  of  earth, 

Gathered  in  their  places, 
Are  the  jewels  of  the  hearth, 
Set  in  love's  embraces. 
A  father's  cheer, 
A  mother's  tear, 
A  sister's  guileless  spirit, 
A  brother's  heart, — 
These  all  impart 
The  treasures  we  inherit. 
Thus,  the  dearest  joys  of  earth, 

Gathered  in  their  places, 
Are  the  jewels  of  the  hearth, 
Set  in  love's  embraces. 

ii. 
Brightest  of  the  gems  of  earth, 

Gathered  in  their  places, 
Are  the  jewels  of  the  hearth, 

Set  in  love's  embraces. 


FIRESIDE   JEWELS.  253 

Sweet  rosy  cheeks, 
And  guileless  freaks, 
Eyes  sparkling  with  emotion, 
And  little  feet 
Which  run  to  greet 
A  parent's  fond  devotion; — 
Thus  the  brighest  gems  of  earth, 

Gathered  to  their  places, 
Are  the  jewels  of  the  hearth, 
Set  in  love's  embraces. 

22 


254 


THOSE  BYGONE  DAYS. 

MUSIC  BT  "MARIE  MAFWOBT." 

I. 

THOSE  bygone  days,  those  bygone  days, 
How  tenderly  their  memory  plays 
Around  the  heart,  awaking  tears 
For  those  beloved  in  other  years. 
Each  passing  hour  has  left  a  trace    \ 
No  flight  of  time  can  e'er  erase. 


n. 

Those  bygone  days,  those  bygone  days, 
Their  memory  still  the  spirit  sways, 
As  slumbering  scenes  revive  again, 
Each  hour  of  joy,  or  thrill  of  pain. 
No  waste  of  time  nor  years'  decay 
Will  bear  them  from  the  heart  away. 


THOSE  BYGONE  DAYS.  255 

in. 

Those  bygone  days,  those  bygone  days, 
All  else  may  change  as  time  decays ; 
But  from  the  heart  can  ne'er  remove 
The  memories  of  our  early  love. 
Each  ebbing  year,  or  added  care, 
But  leaves  them  deeper  graven  there ! 


RUTH: 


A    SACKED    CANTATA 


IN   TWO   PARTS. 


CHARACTERS  INTRODUCED. 

BOAZ, A  Prince  of  Judah. 

NAOMI, A  Widow  of  Bethlehem, 

RUTH, A  Moabitess,  and  Daughter-in-law  to  Naomi. 

ORPAH, The  same. 

Bethlehemites,  Reapers,  Maidens,  etc. 

SCENES  —  Partly  in  Moab,  and  near  Bethlehem,  in  Judea. 

(257) 


258 

PART  FIRST. 

Scene  in  the  country  of  Moab. 
SOLO. — Naomi. 

ALAS  !  what  heavy  griefs  I  Ve  borne, 

And  bitter  tears  have  shed, 
For  husband,  children,  from  me  torn, 

And  numbered  with  the  deadv 
From  Moab's  idol  fanes  I  turn, 

To  dry  my  widow's  tears, 
Where  Israel's  holy  altars  burn, 

And  Abraham's  God  appears. 
And  O,  my  heart  revives  again, 

For  Zion's  land  is  blest, 
And  to  my  native  Bethlehem  plain 

My  soul  returns  to  rest. 

TEIO. — Naomi,  Orpah,  and  Ruth, 

Naomi. 
Return,  my  daughters,  to  the  home 

Where  yet  a  mother's  love  endears, 
Nor  follow  in  the  path  I  roam, 

For  it  is  darkened  still  with  tears. 


RUTH.  259 

Orpah  and  Ruth. 
Ah,  surely  we  will  go  with  thee, 
And  with  thy  people  ever  live. 

Naomi. 

Return,  return ;  why  follow  me  ? 
Nor  joys  have  I,  nor  sons  to  give. 

In  unison. 

Ah,  surely  we  will  go  with  thee, 
And  with  thy  people  ever  live. 
Return,  return ;  why  follow  me  ? 
Nor  joys  have  I,  nor  sons  to  give. 

( Orpah  leaves  the  stage.) 

Naomi. 

Thy  sister  to  her  people  goes ; 
Return,  nor  share  my  bitter  woes. 

SOLO. — Ruth. 

i. 

Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee, 

Nor  to  return  again ; 
Where'er  thou  goest  I  will  go, 
And  evermore  remain. 


260  RUTH. 


I  '11  lodge  where'er  thou  lodgest, 
Thy  people  shall  be  mine ; 

I  '11  serve  thy  God  forevennore, 
And  bow  to  none  but  thine. 


ii. 

I  '11  die  where'er  thou  diest, 

And  buried  there  will  be ; 
And  naught  but  death  shall  e'er  divide 

My  constant  heart  from  thee. 
Intreat  me  not  to  leave  thee, 

Nor  to  return  again ; 
Where'er  thou  goest  I  will  go, 

And  evermore  remain. 

Scene  changes  to  Bethlehem. 
CHORUS. — Bethlehemites. 

AH,  is  this  Naomi  ?    We  welcome  thee  home ; 

The  land  of  thy  fathers  receives  thee  again ; 
Thus  greet  we  the  exile,  when,  ceasing  to  roam, 

She  turns  with  delight  to  her  loved  Bethlehem. 


RUTH. 

SOLO. — Naomi. 

I. 

O,  call  me  not  Naomi  now, 
But  henceforth  let  it  Mara  be, 

For  God  hath  darkened  all  my  years, 
And  bitterly  hath  dealt  with  me. 

n.  * 

I  went  out  full,  but  to  your  gates 

I  now  return  with  empty  hand, 
To  sleep  where  all  my  fathers  sleep, 

By  Bethlehem's  walls,  in  Judah's  land. 

in. 

Then  call  me  not  Naomi  more, 
But  henceforth  let  it  Mara  be , 

For  God's  afflictions  have  been  sore, 
And  bitter  all  his  ways  to  me. 

CHORUS. — Reapers. 

I. 
Away,  away  to  the  harvest  field, 

Away  in  the  morning  early, 
And  to  our  sickles  soon  shall  yield 

The  golden  sheaves  of  barley. 


262  RUTH. 

n. 

Eejoice,  rejoice,  for  the  Lord  is  kind, 
Again  to  bless  our  tilling ; 

And  now  the  ripened  sheaves  we  bind, 
Our  empty  garners  filling. 


PART  SECOND. 

RECITATIVE  AND  AIB.  —  Ruth. 

Recitative. 
"  Let  me  now  go  to  the  field,  and  glean  ears  of  corn  after 

him  in  whose  sight  I  shall  find  grace." 

-% 

Air. 
Though  the  maids  of  Ephratah  are  fair  to  the  eye, 

And  pure  as  the  pearl  in  the  sea, 
I'll  go  where  the  reapers  of  Judah  pass  by,  — 

Some  heart  will  turn  kindly  to  me. 
Then  let  me  now  go  where  they  bind  up  the  corn, 

Though  kindred  and  friends  I  have  none  ; 
And,  modestly  gleaning,  a  stranger  forlorn, 

Some  true  heart  of  Judah  is  won. 


RUTH.  263 

SOLO. — Boaz. 
i. 

Whose  damsel  is  this  coming  lonely  to  glean  ? 

No  daughter  of  Judah  is  she ; 
Yet  fair  as  the  fairest,  and  modest  of  mien, 

Is  the  maiden  of  Moab  to  me. 

ii. 

Ah,  harken,  my  reapers !  rebuke  not  the  maid, 
Though  gleaning  the  thick-standing  sheaves  ; 

But  let  her  go  free  where  your  handfuls  are  laid, 
Till  laden  at  evening  she  leaves. 

in. 
Ah,  why  does  her  presence  such  pleasure  impart  ? 

No  daughter -of  Judah  is  she ; 
Yet  dear  as  the  life  and  the  light  of  my  heart 

Is  the  maiden  of  Moab  to  me. 

DUET.  —  Boaz  and  Ruth. 

Boaz. 
O,  hearest  thou,  my  daughter  ? 

Go  not  to  glean  elsewhere, 

But  keep  by  yonder  maidens, 

And  of  their  dainties  share. 


264  RUTH. 

Ruth. 
I  come  to  thee  a  stranger ; 

And  have  I  yet  found  grace, 
To  be  thus  kindly  greeted, 

Though  of  a  hated  race  ? 

Boaz. 
It  fully  hath  been  told  me, 

What  kindness  thou  hast  shown    • 
Unto  thy  widowed  mother, 

When  desolate  and  lone  ; 
And  thou  hast  left  thy  father 

And  native  land  for  aye, 
To  dwell  among  my  people  ; 

And  God  will  thee  repay. 

Ruth. 
O,  let  me  still  find  favor, 

And  give  thy  friendly  aid ; 
Thy  words  have  greatly  cheered  me, 

A  lonely  Moab  maid. 

Boaz. 
Thy  goodness  hath  been  shown  me ; 

Ruth. 
O,  have  I  then  found  grace  ? 


KUTH.  265 

Boaz. 

Ay,  and  I  am  proud  to  own  thee, 
Before  all  Judah's  race. 

Both. 
No  more,  no  more  our  hearts  shall  rove, 

For  we  have  found  the  sought-for  gaol ; 
And,  happy  now  in  mutual  love, 

Sweet  peace  and  joy  shall  fill  the  soul. 

CHORUS.  —  Maidens  and  Reapers. 

Maidens. 

Glean  we  the  fields,  merry,  merry  maidens, 
Glean  we  the  fields  where  the  reapers  go ; 

Reapers. 

Welcome,  O  welcome,  ye  merry,  merry  maidens, 
Join  in  the  song  which  the  reapers  know. 

All 
Kipe  is  the  harvest,  waving  golden ; 

Bind  up  the  sheaves  of  the  bearded  corn ; 
Sing  as  our  fathers  sung  of  olden, 

When  the  barley  fields  were  shorn. 
Sing,  0  sing,  as  they  sung  of  olden, 

When  the  barley  fields  were  shorn. 
23 


266  BUTH. 

EECITATIVE  AND  AIE.  —  Boaz. 

Recitative. 

"  Blessed  be  thou  of  the  Lord ;  I  will  da  unto 
tliee  all  that  thou  requirest ;  for  all  my  people 
know  thy  virtue." 

Air. 
i. 

A  stranger  you  come  to  my  forefathers'  halls, 

Untrod  by  a  Gentile  till  now ; 
But  fear  not  to  enter ;  my  people  know  all,  — 

None  fairer  or  purer  than  thou. 

n. 

The  mercies  of  heaven  no  birthright  can  claim ; 

To  the  pure  of  all  lands  they  are  free ; 
And  none  to  the  altar  of  God  ever  came 

More  pure  than  the  spirit  in  thee. 

GRAND  FINAL  CHORUS. — Boaz,  Ruth,  and  People. 

People. 

O,  blessed  be  the  pious  house 
Where  Ruth  and  Boaz  dwell ; 

Boaz  and  Ruth. 
We  are  blessed  of  the  Lord ! 


RUTH.  267 

People. 

We  bless  you  in  Ephratah's  gates, 
And  be  ye  blest  in  Israel. 

Boaz  and  Ruth. 
We  are  blessed  of  the  Lord ! 

AIL 

0,  let  us  bless  the  Lord  our  God ; 

His  goodness  through  the  earth  proclaim ; 
For  here  shall  blossom  Jesse's  rod ; 

Our  SHILOAH  comes  to  Bethlehem. 
O,  let  us  bless  the  Lord,  —  Amen ! 


268 


SUSPENSE. 

i. 
WHEN  all  is  known,  the  darkest  fate 

The  smitten  heart  may  learn  to  bear, 
And  feel,  when  time  cannot  abate, 

The  settled  calmness  of  despair ; 
But  who  can  well  endure  the  grief 

Which  knows  no  refuge  or  defence, 
That  age  of  pain  in  moments  brief, — 

The  untold  anguish  of  suspense  ! 

n. 

When  once  the  first  rude  shock  is  past, 

The  heart  may  still  the  storm  outride, 
As,  from  the  wrecks  around  it  cast,  ' 

It  finds  support  to  breast  the  tide ; 
But  thus  to  linger  day  by  day, 

A  prey  to  that  foreboding  sense 
Which  gives  a  pang  to  each  delay, 

And  agonizes  with  suspense ; 


SUSPENSE.  269 

III. 
To  feel  an  ever  present  dread 

Of  some  impending,  nameless  ill, 
Is  keener  than  the  shaft,  when  sped, 

Which  makes  the  wounded  bosom  thrill. 
Then  let  me  know  the  worst  of  fate, 
..    Though  it  may  rend  with  pangs  intense, 
For  sure  no  pains  were  e'er  so  great       £ 

As  are  the  tortures  of  suspense. 

rv. 
And  yet,  the  soul  that  trusts  in  God 

Can  find  a  balm  for  every  woe, 
Since  His  own  hand  upholds  the  rod, 

And  mercy  tempers  every  blow. 
O  then,  my  soul,  be  strong  in  trust, 

Whatever  fate  He  may  dispense,  — 
Although  the  swelling  heart  may  burst, 

While  agonizing  in  suspense. 

23* 


270 


THANATOS. 


ALL  nature  is  dying, 

Ever  dies, 
To  the  grave  all  are  hieing 

Where  the  Death  Angel  flies. 
At  the  rush  of  his  wings 

The  strongest  grow  pale, 
The  life-giving  springs 

All  suddenly  fail ; 
The  high  and  the  lowly, 

The  king  on  the  throne, 
The  vile  and  the  holy, 

He  claims  as  his  own. 
All  nature  is  dying, 

Ever  dies ; 
To  the  grave  all  are  hieing, 

Where  the  Death  Angel  flies. 


THANATOS.  271 

II. 

All  bloom  but  to  wither, 

"Wither  all ; 
To  dust  they  go  thither, 

As  the  Autumn  leaves  fall. 
Ah,  will  no  care  avail, 

No  wisdom  nor  craft, 
When  Death  shall  assail, 

To  ward  off  his  shaft  ? 
Ah  no  !  all  is  vain, 

No  refuge  will  hide; 
His  steel  Death  will  stain 

In  the  heart-flowing  tide. 
All  nature  is  dying, 

Ever  dies ; 
To  the  grave  all  are  hieing, 

Where  the  Death  Angel  flies. 

in. 

A  maiden  was  kneeling, 

A  fair  maid ; 
With  the  heart's  deepest  feeling 

Her  vows  had  been  said. 
From  the  altar  she  rose, 

With  a  blush  on  her  cheek, 
While  the  heart  with  love  glows, 

Too  blissful  to  speak. 


272  THANATOS. 


But,  ere  she  had  felt 

On  her  lips  his  warm  breath, 
Who  beside  her  had  knelt, 

Her  bridegroom  was  Death ! 
All  nature  is  dying, 
Ever  dies; 
To  the  grave  all  are  hieing, 

Where  the  Death  Angel  flies. 

IV. 

When,  pleasure's  cup  filling, 

A  while  yet, 
Their  precious  time  killing, 

The  social  have  met ; 
When  those  joys  most  abound 

Which  they  fain  would  prolong, 
And  the  chorus  swells  round, 

As  they  join  in  the  song, 
E'en  then  at  the  door 

The  rude  knock  is  heard, 
And  cold  evermore 

Is  some  bosom  then  stirred. 
All  nature  is  dying, 

Ever  dies ; 
To  the  grave  all  are  hieing, 

Where  the  Death  Angel  flies. 


THANATOS.  273 

V. 

• 

A  mother  sat  smiling ; 

A  sweet  dove 
Her  heart  was  beguiling 

With  dreams  of  its  love. 
As  she  gazed,  it  grew  still, 

The  lips  ceased  to  sigh. 
The  brow  waxed  chill, 

And  the  light  left  the  eye ; 
Mid  her  heart-gushing  joy, 

She  felt  a  cold  breath,  — 
Then  she  looked  on  her  boy, 

And,  behold,  it  was  Death ! 
All  nature  is  dying, 

Ever  dies ; 
To  the  grave  all  are  hieing, 

Where  the  Death  Angel  flies. 

VI. 

Though  nature  is  dying, 

Ever  dies ; 
To  the  grave  all  are  hieing, 

Where  the  Death  Angel  flies ; 
Still,  his  advent  ne'er  dread, 

Brief,  brief  is  his  reign  : 
The  appointed  time  sped, 

Death  himself  shall  be  slain. 


274  THANATOS. 


Then  the  dead  who  are  "  blessed '' 
Will  Christ  with  him  bring, 

And,  the  grave  dispossessed, 

They  will  reign  with  their  King, 

Where  ne'er  is  known  dying, 
No  one  dies ; 

To  the  grave  none  are  hieing 
And  no  Death  Angel  flies ! 


275 


MY  FATHER'S  BIBLE. 


,  sweet  tears !  I  needs  must  weep, 
For  memory  calls,  from  fountains  deep, 
That  treasured  store  of  holy  tears 
The  heart  hath  garnered  up  for  years. 

Now  I  behold 
My  father's  Bible ;  his  of  yore, 

Than  mines  of  gold 
He  prized  it  more ! 

n. 

When  grief  oppressed,  and  crushing  care, 
When  death  had  nipped  our  loved  and  fair, 
And  dark  misfortune's  heavy  hand 
Was  laid  upon  our  little  band, 

In  painful  loss, 
He  then  would  read  what  Jesus  bore 

Upon  the  Cross, — 
We  wept  no  more ! 


276  MT  FATHER'S  BIBLE. 

m. 

When  Pleasure  spread  her  flowery  maze, 
To  lure  our  feet  from  Virtue's  ways ; 
And  Sin,  with  fell,  insidious  art, 
Wove  fatal  spells  to  snare  the  heart, 

This  truthful  page 
Our  doubting  footsteps  onward  bore 

Through  every  stage, 
Till  doubt  was  o'er. 

IV. 

When  called  to  seek  the  distant  west, 
I  craved  a  father's  last  behest ; 
Mid  parting  pangs  we  scarce  could  brook, 
"  Take  this,"  said  he,  "  this  blest  old  book, 

So  long,  long  mine ; 
And,  though  I  give  no  other  store, 

'T  is  wealth  divine,  — 
Prize  nothing  more ! 

v. 

"  Long  hast  thou  known  a  father's  care, 
Shared  daily  in  his  fervent  prayer ; 
But  now  we  part, — go,  go,  my  child ! " 
He  could  no  more,  but  wept,  yet  smiled, 


MT  FATHER'S  BIBLE.  277 

As,  pointing  still 
To  this  old  book,  when  through  the  door 

I  passed  the  sill, 
Crossed  nevermore ! 


VI. 

Now  moonbeams  sleep  upon  his  grave, 
And  pensive  willows  o'er  him  wave ; 
No  more  from  death's  repose  to  wake, 
To  plead  with  man  for  Jesus'  sake 

His  sins  forbear. 
O,  as  I  turn  these  pages  o'er, 

Than  jewels  rare, 
I  prize  them  more ! 

VII. 

When  death  would  fright  the  timid  soul 
With  coffin,  shroud,  the  grave's  dark  goal ; 
The  parting  hour,  the  dying  groan, 
A  world  unseen,  a  fate  unknown ; 

A  light  from  thee, 
Thou  Book  of  books,  doth  round  me  pour, 

Death's  shadows  flee, — 
Life  evermore ! 
24 


278  MY  FATHER'S  BIBLE. 

vm. 

Thou  'rt  dingy  now,  and  sadly  worn, 
With  crumpled  leaves,  and  binding  torn ; 
Thy  value  others  may  not  see, 
But  thou  art  priceless  wealth  to  me ! 

Shrined  in  my  heart 
Shall  be  thy  memory  and  thy  lore 
My  soul's  best  chart, 


279 


THE  FAY  OF  THE  FALLS. 


WHEN  nature  lies  calmly  in  midnight  repose, 
And  the  anvil  no  longer  rings  sharp  on  the  ear, 

A  melody  floats  from  the  wave  as  it  flows, 
In  murmurs  of  sweetness  enchanting  to  hear. 

Hark !  distant  and  dying,  that  silvery  voice  calls, 

'T  is  the  soft  melting  lay  of  the  Fay  of  the  falls. 


n. 

How  plaintive  its  accents !  it  murmurs  in  sighs, 
Till  the  air  seems  to  thrill  with  its  exquisite  flow ; 

And  the  stars,  looking  pensively  down  from  the  skies, 
In  sympathy  throb  with  a  tremulous  glow. 

List !  distant  and  dying,  that  voice  ever  calls, 

And  sweet  is  the  song  of  the  Fay  of  the  falls. 


280  THE  FAT   OF  THE   FALLS. 

in. 
It  mourns  for  the  days  when  along  the  green  shore 

The  thick-flowering  spray  drooped  its  bloom  to  the 

stream, 
And  the  red  hunter's  bark  the  bright  wave  floated  o'er, 

Ere  the  hills  had  re-echoed  the  clangor  of  steam. 
Now,  distant  and  dying,  a  voice  sadly  calls, 
'T  is  the  tremulous  tones  of  the  Fay  of  the  falls. 

IV. 

The  shore  is  despoiled  of  its  green  forest  bowers, 
Where  nature's  sweet  warblers  their  carols  awoke, 

And  the  wild  deer  have  fled,  for  the  dun  city  towers 
By  the  marge  of  the  stream,  with  its  din  and  its  smoke. 

And,  distant  and  dying,  beyond  its  brown  walls, 

At  the  noon  of  the  night,  sings  the  Fay  of  the  falls. 

v. 
The  dark  clouds  of  water-fowl  come  nevermore, 

To  scream  mid  the  rushes,  in  wildest  of  glee ; 
The  dull  notes  of  commerce  have  usurped  the  shore, 

While  it  burdens  each  wave  going  down  to  the  sea. 
Now,  distant  and  dying,  that  pensive  voice  calls, 
In  the  soft  melting  strains  of  the  Fay  of  the  falls. 


THE   FAY    OF   THE   FALLS.  281 

VI. 

Sing  on,  mournful  spirit !  thy  song  shall  ne'er  cease, 
While  the  wave  hurries  on  to  its  home  in  the  main ; 

But  ever,  when  earth  is  reposing  in  peace, 

Into  night's  listening  ear  pour  thy  soul-melting  strain. 

And,  as,  distant  and  dying,  we  list  to  its  calls, 

Our  hearts  shall  respond  to  the  Fay  of  the  falls. 
24* 


282 


THE  DEAF  AND  DUMB. 


1  DWELL  within  a  voiceless  world, 

Mysterious  as  deep ; 
My  tongue  can  shape  no  form  of  speech, 

I  can  but  laugh  and  weep. 
The  touch  may  wake  the  sounding  chords, 

And  lips  sweet  music  trill,  — 
The  mystic  power  I  cannot  feel, 

A  void  is  round  me  still. 

rr. 
The  winged  lightnings  o'er  me  flash, 

The  trembling  nerve  doth  shake, 
The  awful  stillness  on  my  ear 

The  thunders  may  not  break. 
And  yet  I  know  't  is  God  who  speaks 

In  each  electric  gleam  ; 
I  love  the  music  of  His  voice, 

I  hear  it  when  I  dream. 


THE   DEAF    AND    DUMB.  283 

III. 

When  I  a  mother's  name  would  call, 

Or  hear  its  holy  sound, 
My  lips  give  forth  no  utterance, 

My  ear  is  silence-bound. 
But  O,  that  sweetest,  dearest  name 

My  soul  delights  to  hear ; 
Its  melody  oft  thrills  my  heart,  — 

I  answer  with  a  tear ! 

IV. 

Though,  when  she  knelt  at  evening  hour, 

No  sound  the  stillness  broke, 
I  knew  the  language  of  her  lips, 

It  was  her  soul  that  spoke. 
And  there  were  other  voices,  too, 

Commingled  in  that  prayer ; 
I  saw  no  forms,  but  O,  I  felt 

The  Angels  hovering  there. 

v. 

When  I  the  beauteous  heavens  behold, 

The  star-gemmed  milky  way, 
And  watch  the  flowers  and  bright-winged  birds 

Upon  the  blooming  spray ; 


284  THE   DEAF  AND   DUMB. 

When  beauty,  fragrance  fills  the  sense, 

O,  then  I  long  to  hear, 
And  know  if  music  comes  as  sweet 

Unto  the  quickened  ear. 

VI. 

Though  on  the  ear  and  from  the  tongue 

No  words  of  sweetness  roll, 
The  heart  has  its  own  melody, 

The  music  of  the  soul ; 
JT  is  like  the  far-off  symphony 

The  spirit  hears  alone, 
Swelling  beyond  the  walls  of  time, 

Around  Jehovah's  throne. 

vn. 
There,  on  my  spirit-quickened  sense, 

Shall  heavenly  cadence  thrill, 
My  loosened  tongue  join  in  the  strains 

Which  powers  celestial  fill ; 
There,  evermore  with  new  delight 

Shall  praise  to  him  be  given, 
Who,  in  a  world  of  silence,  tuned 

Both  tongue  and  ear  for  heaven ! 


285 


I  LOVE  THE  WIND. 

r. 

THE  wind  is  out  with  merry  rout, 

It  revels  wild  and  free, 
The  forests  swaying  to  and  fro, 

Like  billows  of  the  sea. 
O,  hear  it  at  the  casement,  now, 

With  rude  and  hoarse  refrain ; 
'T  is  thus  I  love  to  hear  the  wind 

Make  music  on  the  pane. 

ii. 

It  mourns  along  the  empty  halls, 

Or  mounts  the  winding  stair, 
Goes  rumbling  through  each  garret  room, 

And  every  cranny  there ; 
Now  down  into  the  cellar  dark, 

Then  up  the  stair  again. 
O,  how  I  love  the  free  wild  wind, 

Though  rough  and  rude  its  strain. 


286  I  LOVE   THE   WIND.         • 

m. 

It  mounts  the  gable,  twirls  the  vane, 

Then  stoops  with  sudden  drop, 
,-      Around  the  dusty  courtyard  whirls, 

Like  the  spinning  of  a  top  ; 
Now  glides  along  the  portico, 

And  slams  the  opened  door. 
O,  how  I  love  this  windy  war,  — 

There  's  music  in  its  roar. 

rv. 
Behold  it  toss  the  snow-flakes  round, 

Ere  to  the  ground  they  fall, 
In  many  a  wild  and  merry  bout, 

Then  heap  them  'gainst  the  wall; 
Or  from  the  hooded  tree-tops  shake 

The  hoary  wreaths  of  snow. 
'T  is  thus  I  love  the  free  wild  wind, 

How  rough  so  e'er  it  blow. 


287 


IF  YOU  "WILL  ONLY  THINK  SO. 

i. 
EACH  one  must  take  his  chance  in  life, 

And  wait  for  fortune's  favors ; 
And,  if  it  bring  protracted  strife, 

With  unrequited  labors, 
Ne'er  yield  a  moment  to  despair, 

Nor  let  the  spirit  shrink  so. 
No  richer  blessing,  oft,  than  care, 

If  you  will  only  think  so ! 

ii- 
As  fortune's  wheel  rolls  on  its  way, 

Ne'er  count  the  hours  by  sorrow, 
Since  he  who  rides  the  top  to-day, 

The  bottom  find^to-morrow. 
Ne'er  let  success  depend  on  place, 

Nor  yield  whene'er  you  sink  low ; 
When  lowest,  you  have  won  the  race, 

If  you  will  only  think  so! 


288  IP  YOU   WILL    ONLY  THINK   SO. 

III. 

Timidity  is  half  defeat, 

Ere  foeman  is  pursuing ; 
And,  where  success  might  be  complete, 

Faint  heart  is  all  undoing. 
Ne'er  charge  it  back  on  "  cruel  fate," 

When  sorrow's  cup  you  drink  so ; 
The  shortest  road  to  ruin's  gate 

Is  only  just  to  think  so ! 

rv. 
What  though  your  lot  is  hard  to  bear, 

With  none  to  ease  your  labor  ? 
Ne'er  murmur  that  a  lighter  share 

Has  fallen  to  your  neighbor. 
The  reasons  never  stop  to  ask, 

Why  link  is  joined  to  link  so  ; 
And  yours  will  be  the  lightest  task, 

If , you  will  only  think  so ! 

* 
V. 

Remember,  there  can  be  no  good 

In  moping  over  troubles, 
For,  bowing  to  despondent  mood, 

The  sorrow  only  doubles ; 


IP  YOU  WILL  ONLY  THINK  SO.         289 

Then  shake  off  care,  and  bravely  on, 

Though  you  to  ruin's  brink  go, 
And  on  its  verge  the  gaol  is  won, 

If  you  will  only  think  so  i 
25 


290 


TO  AN  INFANT  BOY. 

i. 
ROOM  for  a  new-born  love, 

Room  in  each  parent  breast ; 
Another  snow-white  dove 

Seeks  for  an  ark  of  rest. 
A  welcome,  darling  boy, 

Where  love  its  light  imparts, 
O,  nestle  as  a  joy 

Forever  in  our  hearts. 

n. 

Mysterious  visitant 

From  yon  celestial  sphere, 
O  say,  why  art  thou  sent 

For  joy  or  sorrow  here  ? 
While  now  our  spirits  reel 

With  strange  deliciousness, 
We  fear  the  joy  we  feel, 

It  is  not  earthly  bliss. 


TO    AN   INFAKT   BOY. 
III. 

Since  to  our  raptured  sight 

This  radiant  one  was  given, 
Our  hearts  have  felt  delight, 

All  redolent  of  heaven ; 
But  O,  there  comes  a  fear, 

He  is  not  ours  alone ; 
Heaven  is  his  native  sphere, 

And  Heaven  may  claim  its  own ! 

IV. 

O,  let  the  gentle  love 

An  earthly  home  imparts, 
Beguile  thee,  precious  dove, 

To  nestle  in  our  hearts. 
Come  to  thy  parent's  breast, 

And  be  a  constant  joy : 
It  is  thy  ark  of  rest, 

My,  brighkeyed,  cherub  boy ! 


292 


HYMN  FOR  A  NEW  YEAR'S   SABBATH- 
SCHOOL    FESTIVAL. 

i. 
OTHERS,  vainly  seeking  pleasure, 

Meet  to  sip  their  rosy  wine ; 
Here  we  find  enduring  treasure, 

Where  we  learn  of  things  Divine. 
Years  may  fly,  and  cares  o'ertake  us, 

Hopes  decay,  and  heart  be  riven, 
But  our  God  will  ne'er  forsake  us, 

Tune  is  winging  us  to  Heaven. 

n. 
Here  we  learn  to  love  and  cherish 

Friends  who  win  the  erring  heart, 
Truths  receive  that  never  perish, 

Truths  that  grace  and  life  impart. 
Tasting  joys  beyond  conception, 

With  each  lesson  truly  given ; 
We  escape  the  dark  deception, 

In  the  radiant  path  to  Heaven. 


A  NEW-YEAR'S  SABBATH-SCHOOL  FESTIVAL.    293 

in. 

Sacred  are  these  friendly  meetings, 

Sweet  this  interchange  of  love, 
For  the  lips  now  warm  with  greetings 

Guide  our  hearts  to  bliss  above. 
While  the  sands  of  life  are  wasting, 

Be  our  hearts  to  Jesus  given, 
In  the  pathway  ever  hasting, 

Upward  to  the  gates  of  Heaven. 

IV. 

New  Year's  greetings  have  been  spoken, 

Happy  wishes  breathed  to-day ; 
Each  received  some  cherished  token, 

Friendship's  gift  to  bear  away. 
Now,  O  Lord,  ere  we  shall  sever, 

One  more  gift  is  freely  given ; 
O  receive,  and  keep  forever, 

Treasure  up,  our  hearts  in  -Heaven. 
25* 


294 


A  SONG  ABOUT  SINGERS. 

i. 

THE  "  Sinless  Child  "  *  perfection  seeks, 

With  heart  that  ever  yearns, 
Glowing,  as  did  the  burning  bush, 

With  fire  that  never  burns. 

n. 

And  truly  hers  should  ever  bear 

The  "Salamander's"  name, 
For  all  her  genius  deigns  to  touch 

Lives  evermore  in  flame. 

in. 

«  Elfrida  "  f  was  a  "  Music-Box," 

And,  while  a  flower  shall  bloom, 
Her  own  "  Wild  Flowers  "  through  all  the  year 
Will  shed  their  rich  perfume. 

*Mrs.  E.  O.  Smith.  1  Mrs.  F.  S.  Osgood 


A   SONG  ABOUT   SINGERS.  295 

IV. 

Her  fancy  soared  on  lightest  wing, 

And  revelled  wild  and  free, 
And  gathered  fresh  the  fairest  flowers 

Of  Love  and  Poesy. 

v. 

" Ideal," *  in  "a  sad,  sweet  dream," 

Beholds  her  sought-for  token ; 
But  from  the  airy  vision  wakes, 
And  finds  her  "  Image  Broken." 

VI. 

And  now,  like  rude  Idolater, 

When  truth  his  chains  has  riven, 
She  lays  upon  a  holier  shrine 

A  holocaust  to  Heaven. 

VII. 

"Melodia"f  sung  —  the  "Butter-cup," 

The  "  Rainbow  "  brighter  glowed, 
And  every  murmuring  "  Sea-shell's  "  voice 
In  sweeter  cadence  flowed, 

*  Miss  Lynch.  t  Mrs.  Welby. 


296  A   SONG  ABOUT   SINGERS. 

vm. 
With  heart  as  timid  as  the  flower 

That  first  peeps  out  in  spring, 
And  yet  so  brimming  full  of  song, 

She  could  not  help  but  sing. 

IX. 

"  Flora's  Interpreter  "  *  is  still 

The  genius  of  the  "  Book," 
Through  which  she  sheds  the  "  Light  of  Home  " 

In  every  tasteful  nook. 

x. 

Here  trips  a  "  Grace,"  f  from  Venus'  train, 

In  "Love  and  Daring"  by, 
Yet  "  Dreams  "  and  "  Darkened  Hours "  oft  seem 

To  light  and  shade  her  eye. 

XI. 

And  she  who  loves  the  moral  Muse,  I 

The  matron  of  the  choir, 
Still  sings  us  songs  of  Home  and  Heaven, 

In  strains  that  never  tire. 

*  Mrs.  Hale.        t  Miss  S.  J.  Clark.        jMrs.  Sigourney. 


A   SONG  ABOUT   SINGEKS.  2 

xn. 

The  "  Sleeping  Beauty  "  *  chants  her  lay, 

The  modest  "  Cinderella : " 
When  once  her  worth  is  truly  known, 

She  '11  grace  the  proudest  villa. 

XIII. 

Once  He  who  "  spake  as  ne'er  man  spake," 

Whose  speech  ne'er  yet  beguiled, 
Declared  that  they  are  blessed  who 

Are  like  unto  a  «  Child."  t 

XIV. 

And,  "  Child  "-like,  she  doth  aim  to  bless 

Her  little  kindred  here, 
Nor  does  she  scorn  the  love  of  those 

She  '11  love  in  yonder  sphere. 

xv. 

With  "  Sun  "  and  "  Summer "  in  their  smiles, 
Walk  hand  in  hand  the  "  Mays ; "  \ 

One  leads  about  her  graceful  "  Fawn," 
The  other  wreathes  bouquets. 

*  Miss  Whitman,    t  Miss  Child,    $  Caroline  and  Edith  May, 


298  A  SONG  ABOUT  SINGERS. 

XVI. 

The  Western  "Helva"*  paints  to  life 

"  Pictures  of  Memory," 
And  twines  the  freshest  "  mountain  flowers  " 

In  wreaths  of  Poesy, 

XVII. 

A  "  Light  in  Darkness  "  shines  alway 

Amid  life's  dreary  night, 
To  gild  the  path  the  "  sisters  "f  tread 

Up  to  the  "gates  of  light." 

xvm. 
And  there  are  others  in  the  choir, 

Whose  brows  the  bays  will  twine ; 
For  they  are  with  the  "  vision  blest, 

And  faculty  divine." 

*  Alice  Gary.        t  Alice  and  Phebe  Cary. 


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